


The Burren

by Acatnamedeaster, littleblackbow, thiliart (thilia)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acatnamedeaster/pseuds/Acatnamedeaster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/pseuds/littleblackbow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilia/pseuds/thiliart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Harry and Ginny part ways, Harry goes off to figure out who he's supposed to be, and ends up on the Western Coast of Ireland. Oliver Wood works out there making racing broomsticks.<br/>It's a story of being lost, being found, and a giant magical boulder that seems to give and take precisely what people need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burren

**Author's Note:**

> Mod Note: **We'd like to remind all visitors that the art and fiction created for the Harry Big Bang is not to be copied, repurposed, or redistributed without express permission from the artist who created it and that we have exclusivity until 7 March 2015. You are welcome to recommend fics and art by linking back to the post on Ao3, but not to copy and repost elsewhere.**

It’s called “The Burren,” or “Boíreann” meaning “the great rock”. 

It’s an ancient, sacred place that for millennia has struck awe into mankind.

It’s also a place where wizards can go when they need to find themselves, or when they need to get away from the rest of the wizarding world. 

To the Muggles , this huge expanse of rock and flora is one of the places where brightly painted tour buses will stop on their way to Limerick so that the old ladies in their wide-brimmed hats and the retired gents in gaudy floral shirts can take their holiday snaps. But to wizards, it’s a rock that pulses with magic, where space is never quite as it seems and sometimes that five-minute broomstick flight to Kinvarra gets pulled by the winds and takes over an hour to cross the few miles of terrain.

Walking across The Burren is always different, as well. Time does funny things to a wizard on this rock. On the way into town it’s a two mile walk but then on the way home the two miles stretch to eight, even when one takes the same path. There are seventeen wizards’ houses on The Burren, and sometimes they’re in sight of one another, but other times not. None of them can be seen by Muggles, either, although there are no trees and nothing in particular to obstruct the view.

This is a place where magic does what it does - where nature is at the same time fresh and ancient. It is Ireland’s magical wild frontier. It’s a place of healing, and a place where a man can get so lost within himself that he may never been the same again.

It’s a place where the ley lines of magic and mysticism of the British Isles cross before heading over the Atlantic to the New World. And it’s a place where a wizard can go to find out who he’s supposed to be.

There is a reason it’s the home to the fastest birds in the world. It’s home to flowers that ought not to exist on a rock, lizards, a disproportionately large number of butterflies, and the place where historically the selkies would go for refuge from their own heritage and mankind.

Such a magical place also had its own mystery. It would only become prominent in the minds of those who needed it, and fade into obscurity in the minds of those who didn’t. In wizarding terms, and for those who are familiar with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was, and still is, something of a natural Room of Requirement.

It was late. Oliver looked up at the clock. It was already nine and he’d been working on the same broomstick for over seven hours without a break. The new model he was developing was one that had its own intuition that bound itself to its rider and allowed a sort of symbiotic relationship to form. The longer a rider used the broomstick the easier it became to handle and theoretically the faster it would get, as well.

But things were going wrong. The branches he’d imported from Ballyannan Wood weren’t binding properly, and therefore weren’t responding to the charms. “Binding... binding...” Oliver scratched his head with the end of a branch. His hair was getting long, and a bud of the branch got tangled in his locks on the back of his head. “Bloody hell!” He reached for his carving knife and cut the branch out of his hair. “Right, bindings for this lot. If the brass rings won’t do, maybe somethin’ more natural. Leather? Horsehair?”

He looked back up at the clock and tossed his carving knife down on the workbench. “Or perhaps sleep, Ollie? Yer drivin’ yerself batty with this lot.”

Oliver shoved the broomstick aside and picked up his mug of tea and half-eaten packet of crisps from the sideboard. “Dinner, then sleep. Bloody broomstick can wait until morning.” With a flick of his wand, he extinguished the lights in the room, and went out onto The Burren.

It was a gorgeous land. Oliver drew so much inspiration from this rock. No matter how far he looked, there was nothing to bother him, nobody to get in his way. There were no reporters asking him about his accident, asking him about how he felt; asking him questions about people and places and loves that he’d never know again. 

Oliver sat on the small stool just outside his house. It looked out onto the rock that reached out to the sea, he could smell the salty breeze blowing through. “Thursday. Tomorrow night’s music night.” He set down his tea and the crisps and brought out a pipe. After filling half a bowl, he lit it and sat in his own silence for a few moments. “Wonder if Laedie-ro’s playin’ again. He’s a marvel on the concertina.” Oliver chuckled to himself. “Talkin’ to ye’self again, Ollie. If there was anyone here, they’d think ye barmy.”

Both Harry and Ginny knew it had been the last straw. Actually, Harry was quite sure the last row they’d had was the last straw, but when he looked down into Albus’s eyes he thought he might just give it one more go. But after this one, he knew there was nothing else to be done.

“I liked you a lot better when we were friends, Harry.” Ginny sat a cup of coffee in front of him on the table, then went around to the other side. “And I still do. Like you, that is. I think you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

Harry nodded.

“And I love you, too. But... just not the way I should.” She pushed her hair back out of her face and fastened it with a little wordless sticking charm. Her smile was sweet and apologetic, but Harry knew there was some pain back behind that smile as well.

“You deserve the kind of love your parents have, Gin.” Harry took a sip of coffee.

Ginny nodded. “You do, too. But we both know that we’re not going to get it with each other. And no matter how much we love those kids, things will just keep getting worse if we keep trying to make this happen.”

Harry sighed, looking down into his coffee mug. “You’re wonderful, you know that?” He looked up at his wife and nodded. “You’ve been taking care of me for half of my life. And here you are again, this voice of wisdom in the utter chaos we’ve created together.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Harry. You’re pretty good at taking care of yourself.”

“I suppose so.” Harry drank some more of his coffee, then pushed it aside, stretching his arms out in front of him and tilting his head to one shoulder. “So, I think I’ll be the one leaving. You can have this house and I can move back into Grimmauld Place.”

Ginny’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Harry, you _hate_ that musty old place.”

“I don’t hate it.” Harry sat up again and let out a long breath. “And it’s a place I can go.”

“You’ll stay to talk to the boys first, though. Right?”

“Of course. I’ll have a chat with them first thing in the morning.” Harry levitated his mug to the sink and Vanished the rest of the coffee. “I’ll take the sofa tonight. You’ve been camping out in the living room more than your share this week.”

Ginny nodded, still looking unsure of herself. “Thank you. This way’s for the best right? While we’re still friends?”

“You’ll always be one of my best friends, Gin. Nothing’s ever going to change that.” Harry winked at her, then headed out of the kitchen towards the living room.  
It had been a long time coming, and neither of them really knew what the future held, but after that night they both knew it was the right decision. The only way they could ever take another step forward.

Ginny had been right. He _did_ hate that rotten old house. As he stood out front, watching the facade shift back and forth between numbers 11 and 13, he grimaced and admitted the truth to himself. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was a house full of ghosts, memories, and portraits of people who, he thought, had best be forgotten.

Kreacher met him at the door as he walked in, scowling and then ambling off to the kitchen without even one word. The curtains were dusty, the furniture looked old and uncomfortable, and that large wooden table in the kitchen felt as if it was encircled by the ghosts of all of Harry’s lost loved ones. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Professor Snape, Fred...

The list was too long for Harry’s heart to finish.

He steadied his shoulders and made his way upstairs to the room he’d called his own for the one year after the end of the war. “This place is an eyesore,” he told himself as he tossed his suitcase on the bed. “If it weren’t a gift from Sirius, I might have burned it down ages ago.”

Harry set about cleaning the room, but didn’t get very far before he decided he couldn’t sleep there again. Memories of his fifth year echoed in his mind as he found relics from that not-too-distant past. Even after twenty years, he could still hear the calls of his friends from down the hallway.

He moved into the room Sirius had taken. It had been sacred to him when he was nineteen. Like a shrine that had best be left untouched, lest it be desecrated by idle curiosity. But today it just looked like a room. 

Harry stretched out on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. He’d never noticed the twinkling constellations there before. Of course, the dog star, Sirius, was right in front of his face, then he followed a line over to the Pleiades. He found Cancer, and Libra, then Draco and the hunter, Orion. But then, some of the stars twinkled in an order Harry hadn’t known about before. Almost like they were flashing a code.

Under. The. Dresser. Right. Side.

“You sneaky bastard,” Harry whispered with a smile. He went over to the dresser in the room, looked underneath it, and behind the right leg, held up with a sticking charm was a bottle of 42-year-old Firewhiskey. A note on the bottle indicated it was a gift from Remus to Sirius. “Two sneaky bastards.” Harry brought out his wand and Summoned a tumbler from downstairs. “To my Godfather and his mates!” He opened the bottle and poured himself two fingers of the blessed drink. “May you all know just how much I’m enjoying this, and I hope the Gods don’t let you see just how badly I’ve fucked things up this time.”

One of the major differences between Firewhiskey and regular Muggle whiskey is that it doesn’t necessarily mellow as it gets older, but it certainly becomes more potent. The first drink made Harry feel pretty good. The second drink brought out melancholy and self-loathing like he hadn’t felt since Fred’s funeral. The third drink had him standing on the bed, back against the wall, singing ballads about whaling ships lost at sea. And the fourth one gave him an entirely new lease on life, convincing him that he should find the nearest magical ley line, and follow it wherever it might take him.

It made sense to him. He didn’t want to stay in that house. He didn’t really want to stay in London. The further away he got from all of these problems, the better he would feel. And that magical bottle in his hand would lead the way toward his own destiny.

Or so he thought until he slumped down on the bed and stopped fighting the urge to close his eyes and pass out.

Mornings after four glasses of Firewhiskey have always, throughout the history of the wizarding world, been far too bright. The sun shone directly into Harry’s eyes through the stained glass window and two centimeter gap between the drapes, effectively waking him in the most headache-inducing psychedelic manner possible.

“Fuck me,” Harry grumbled, rolling over onto his stomach. He felt the bottle of Firewhiskey under one knee and grabbed it to move it aside. “What the hell is with this stuff, anyway?” He tried to focus on the label, bringing it right up to his face, but it was no good. “Right. Good whiskey does this to a chap, does it? Damn, I’m still not making any sense.”

He pushed himself up and dragged himself to the bathroom, tossing the nearly-full bottle of whiskey back on the bed. After a long hot shower and several glasses of water, he finally felt somewhat of his old self again. He hadn’t been away from his family for two days yet, and already he’d completely lost track of who he was and what he should be doing.

“Last night. Something I said seems to make more sense than it ought to,” he muttered to himself as he pulled on a pair of jeans and the t-shirt he’d worn the day before. “Following a ley line as far as it goes?” He looked down at the bottle of whiskey. “I don’t know if this is a gift from you, Sirius, or from Remus. But such a daft idea must have come from one of you lot.”

Harry picked up the bottle and went over to the wardrobe, intending to tuck it away. But when he opened the door, there was a leather satchel sitting on the floor right in front of him. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and looked inside. It was a travel bag with some of Sirius’s clothes, a towel, a shaving kit, an empty journal with a self-inking quill tucked inside, and a map of the magical ley lines of Britain.

“You bastards,” Harry said softly. He had a huge grin on his face. It only took him a moment to decide what all of this meant. He put on one of Remus’s blazers from the wardrobe. Then he tucked the whiskey into the satchel between the clothes and the towel, picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. “Fine time to start acting like a godfather.”  
Without another look back and only a quick word to Kreacher, Harry left the house in the capable hands of its elf.

As it turned out, the map was very old. So old, in fact, that many of the landmarks drawn on it were not labelled properly in modern English, and many of them had been replaced by night clubs and crockery shops. Harry decided that the sooner he got out of London, the sooner he might find some of these ley lines the map was indicating.  
In fact, the only thing that was on the map that Harry _knew_ was still around was the village of Hogsmeade. That was marked not only with a large red circle, but a charm that seemed to make the crossing of the ley lines pulsate and glow. “Not a bad trick,” Harry admitted as he headed out to the Leaky Cauldron. 

Although things had calmed down since the war, Harry was still something of a celebrity in wizarding London. It had made his life as an Auror difficult at best, and even shopping in Diagon Alley took far longer than it should due to the gawkers and handshakers and all of those children who still wanted autographs.

Once at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry asked if there was a Floo he could use that offered a bit of privacy. When one is going off on an impossible mission handed down by fate through the medium of a leather satchel left by one’s deceased godfather, and a bottle of Firewhiskey donated by a werewolf/former professor, it’s best not to draw too much attention to where one was going or what one was doing. He was ushered into the back kitchen that was only used during the holidays.

“Floo powder in the kitty-cat mug,” Hannah said. “Just a pinch. Doesn’t grow on trees, y’know.”

Harry tamped down the urge to point out to her that, yes, it did actually grow on trees if he thought about it. He took a small pinch of powder from a ridiculous-looking mug that had three hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil, see-no-evil cats on it, stepped into the hearth and threw the powder down at his feet. “The Hog’s Head, Hogsmeade Village.”

Harry found himself entering an empty pub. Not that The Hog’s Head was usually busy at eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning, but he expected _someone_ to be around. Aberforth would be in the back sleeping, most likely, but Carl, the man he’d hired to do all his heavy lifting for him wasn’t around, either.

“Hullo?” Harry called to the back. He heard some rustling in the kitchen and took the liberty to walk around and see who was there.

Aberforth was lumbering over a cutting board, chopping up carrots and potatoes while a stew was bubbling and steaming on the stove. When he looked up, Harry noticed that his eyes were cloudier than last the last time he’d seen the old man, and those little half-moon glasses made him look more like his brother. “Oh, it’s you. Well, if you’re back here, you best be startin’ on the bread,” Aberforth said in a gruff voice. A few moments later, he squinted and focussed again on Harry. “Oh, Harry Potter is it?” He chuckled and set down the knife, then wiped his hands on a towel that was hanging out of his apron pocket. “Well, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Harry set down his leather satchel on a stool that was standing in the corner. “I didn’t expect to be here today.” He walked around the table and shook the man by the hand, then patted him on the shoulder. “Carl’s not here?”

“Got that influenza. It’s sweepin’ through the magic community like a gale.” Aberforth turned down the heat on the stew and levitated the rest of the vegetables into the pot. “Half of Hogsmeade is out with it. Been makin’ soups and stews with pepper-ups all week as our daily specials.”

Harry nodded and looked around the kitchen. It was obvious that only one man had been working this place, and based on the way Aberforth was moving, it was starting to take its toll on him. “Here, you go sit for a spell and let me get the bread going. I’ll make sure the stew doesn’t burn.”

Aberforth nodded and sat a chair near that stool while Harry took the raised bread dough out from under the large tea towel and began rolling it into loaves. The old man examined the satchel with great interest, then reached out and ran a hand along the top flap. “I haven’t seen this old thing in a generation or two,” he said to himself.

Harry made six round loaves of bread, cut crosses in the top and dusted them with salt and flour. “What was that?” He looked up to see what the old man was talking about. “Oh, that thing? I found it in Sirius’s old wardrobe. It had some of his old clothes and things in it, plus a map. And since I’m on something of a walkabout, it seemed like a pretty handy thing to find at the time.”

Aberforth nodded and smiled down at the bag. “He used to carry it with him everywhere. I remember sneaking him in the back here one night. It had been a full moon and he was worse than exhausted. He just tucked that old leather bag under his head and fell asleep beneath the bar.”  
Harry put the loaves into the oven and stirred the stew. These sorts of stories were like treasures to him. He listened to them, tucked them away in his memories, and cherished them like they were conversations with his godfather himself. 

The old man laughed to himself. “Didn’t know at the time he was nicking a bottle of Firewhiskey at the same time. Oh, he left me six Galleons for the jug, but completely underage, mind you.” Aberforth looked up at Harry again. “What are you doing out here, Harry Potter? You said walkabout. That doesn’t sound like a man who’s well-settled in with a wife and two little ‘uns.”

Harry set a charm to keep the stew stirring and levitated a barrel over so he could sit next to his old friend. “You’re right. I’m not settled in. Or rather I _was_ , but now I’m finding myself in need of a little time and space.”

The kitchen was silent other than the sound of the gurgling stew and the fire crackling under the brick oven. Harry opened the bag and brought out the old bottle of whiskey. “Share a finger or two?” He offered. 

Aberforth smiled and nodded. He Summoned two glasses over from the front bar and set them on the stool. Inside the bag, he noticed the map with the ley lines marked across it. “You’re following magic, I see?”

Harry poured out two drinks, capped the bottle again and tucked it back into the leather bag. “I’ve got to do something. And this seemed to be as good an idea as any. I haven’t traveled in years. And there’s something else that I can’t explain.”

“You’re itching for something.” Aberforth sniffed the whiskey. “This has got to be forty years old. Where’d you get such a bottle?”

Harry sipped his drink. “It was fastened with a sticking charm to the underside of Sirius’s old dresser with a note on it that read ‘For my mate, don’t drink it all at once, R.”  
“Aaah, very nice.” Aberforth took a sip of his whiskey and smiled. “A gift from his brother then.” He took another sip of the fine whiskey.

Harry shook his head. “Remus, surely.”

Aberforth gave him a knowing smile. “Remus hated it when Sirius was drinking. It was the cause of more domestic rows than I’d care to guess. No, that was likely from his brother. Who loved his brother enough to make every attempt to break him away from the love of his life.” Aberforth sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief. “Regulus was a fool, but his heart was in the right place.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Now you’re having me on. What’s this about Sirius and the love of his life? Remus trying to...”  
He stopped. It made no sense at all and yet explained everything at the same time. Well-accepted now, it just wasn’t acceptable having a gay brother in a Pureblood family back when Sirius and Regulus were in school.

Aberforth tossed back the rest of his drink and rose. He patted Harry on the shoulder and went over to the stove to check on the stew. “The more you learn about the people around you, boy, the more you learn about yourself. Don’t shove the past too far into the past. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”  
Harry’s mind went back to all of those times he’d seen his godfather with his best friend. Always together, always comforting one another, sharing looks that Harry didn’t understand at the time. It had been far more than two men who had shared a past. And what was it that Professor Snape had said about them?

“Well, _that’s_ something to think about, anyway,” Harry said to himself. He tossed back the rest of his drink and made a gallant effort not to begin dancing at the music that wasn’t playing in the kitchen.

“If you’re following magic, Harry Potter, I’d suggest you start at Hogwarts and take the southwest line. It’s the same one the Knight Bus uses for power.” He levitated the stew off the stove and began transferring it from the huge cauldron into a group of smaller cauldrons set out on the sideboard. “Mighty powerful and ancient as the land itself.”  
Harry fastened the flap on his leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder again. “I’ll help you deliver those first, if you like.”

When Aberforth looked up at Harry, he seemed puzzled. “You’ve got your own work to do and I’ve got mine. I thought you’d grown out of meddling in other people’s affairs to avoid your own destiny. Apparently I was wrong.” He went back to his cauldron and shooed Harry off with his hand. “Off you go now. Stop back sometime when you’ve finished walking about and bring that bottle with you. That is if you haven’t finished it all.”

Harry laughed. “Right, sir. Whiskey after my walkabout.” With that, Harry went out the back door of the Hog’s Head and into Hogsmeade Village. It was eerily quiet with so many people out with the flu. So quiet, in fact, that Harry felt uncomfortable walking up toward the Shrieking Shack.

About halfway up the hill, however, Harry felt a strong pull at his feet. It felt as if there was a string that ran all through him from his heels to the back of his neck and down his arms, and someone was tugging at that string, trying to pull it out. He looked up at the sun. “Southwest. I guess I’ve found my ley line.”

Harry followed the line as far as the coast. When he’d gone as far as he could on foot, he booked passage on a ferry that would take him to Belfast. The passage was clear, and soon he was standing on one of the busiest docks he’d ever seen. He disembarked on the wizarding side of the port, taking in the sights. A breeze coming from the southwest brought a crisp, fresh scent of fish and salt and the burning pine of fires. He decided this could very well be a place he called home if he ever decided to leave London for good.

After dinner in a pub and stopping to buy a thermos of tea to carry with him, Harry set out again to follow his magic lines. “Really not such a bad idea,” he told himself as he set out across the land. He walked along country roads, avoiding most of the Muggle areas. “I should have explored more like this when I was younger. Maybe things would have been different.”

He thought about Ginny and the kids back home and shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t give up the boys for anything,” he muttered to himself. Even through all of the problems with Ginny, those two boys were the most amazing things that had ever happened in his life. He missed them fiercely.

About half a mile down the road, Harry noticed a small village with what appeared to be a household goods store. There were broomsticks leaning up against a rack just outside. On a whim, he went over to the rack and held his hand over the handle of one of the larger broomsticks. It quivered and the bristles straightened out under his magic. “Oh, very good.” He smiled.

A  young woman came out of the shop and nodded at Harry. “Need a broom?”

Harry turned to her and smiled, flashing those emerald eyes. “Maybe.” He ran his hand along the broomsticks one more time. It was so tempting to fly along the lines, and it would cut out so much time.

“Ye don’t have a house ‘round here, do ye? What’d ye be needin’ a broom for?” She tilted her head to one side, letting her long black ponytail fall over her shoulder.

Harry knew this look. He could read this body language. Her flirting was a bit much for him, though. It was too soon after leaving Ginny, and he didn’t even really know who he was supposed to be at this point. “Maybe I don’t need a broom, then.” He ran his hand down the broom handle of the one he liked, then nodded.

“Unless yer plannin’ to fly it, it wouldn’a do ye much good on the road.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m not planning to fly.” He turned to her and nodded once, then continued down the road. Somewhere inside, though, he did feel the itch to fly again. It’d been so long since he’d gone on a nice flight out in the country. Yet another thing he seemed to have given up when they had kids. He and Ginny used to go on camping trips and fly all over the countryside, simply enjoying the air and the magic.

“Another part of who I am that’s been shoved aside for the sake of making things work.” He used to think it was all part of becoming an adult, but as he walked along the road, feeling the magic beneath his feet urge him onward, Harry started to realize that there were certain things that every wizard _had_ to hold onto, or he might completely lose himself.

It was getting late, and Harry knew he’d had far too much to drink. The road was beginning to feel grittier under his feet and the wind was no longer at his back. His stomach was just a little queasy and that harsh sea breeze in his face made him feel feverish, even while wearing his heavier coat and wooly jumper. “One more drink,” he told himself, taking a quick swig of the Firewhiskey to warm him up. He capped the bottle again and stuffed it into his satchel, then pulled up the lapels on his coat. “Should’ve brought my cloak.”

Further down the road he could see the lights of what looked like a village. It was getting late, he knew he ought to stop for the night soon. The best he could hope for was an inn with an open room, but even a shed out of the wind would do if he could find one that was private enough so that he could use his magic to warm up.

By the time he got to the pub, Harry’s face was bright red and his eyes were blurry. There was a band in the corner with a man playing a concertina, a girl on the fiddle, and another man playing the bodhran. Harry headed straight for an empty seat, set down his satchel, and rested his head on the table. 

Between the music, the whiskey and the fever, his brain started to wander back into his memories. The music reminded him of Hogwarts of the times before Voldemort returned, when they were still able to act like kids. He thought of Quidditch and flying, and Oliver Wood.

“Oi, is that you, Harry?”

Of Oliver Wood’s voice calling out to him on the Quidditch pitch. He could feel a cool hand on his forehead. Harry closed his eyes and smiled. “Feels good.”

“You’re burnin’ up, mate. What’re ye doin’ out all the way out here on The Burren, anyway?” Oliver went back to his place at the bar, plunked down five euro and went back to Harry. He wrapped one arm around Harry’s back, carefully lifting him from the chair. “Come on, mate. Ye can’t stay here like this.”

Harry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Oliver? Never expected to see you here. God, I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, an’ ye look even worse. I’m takin’ ye home.” Oliver half-carried Harry out of the pub and around to the back of the building. “Not sure if it’s safe to Apparate here, but you’ll never survive the walk across the rock.” A moment later, there was a sharp crack sound, and Oliver was gone with Harry along-side.

Harry dreamed of the Forbidden Forest. He could smell the pine and hear the crackling from the underbrush as he ran through it, trying to escape from... something. There was no obvious danger, but he still felt as if something was terribly wrong. Someone was chasing him, and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get away.

As he came into a clearing, Sirius was standing there smiling at him, trying to comfort him. “Don’t worry, Harry. Sometimes you can’t run away from the things you fear. It’s times like these when you’ve got to have faith in your strength and face it head-on.”

“But it isn’t safe,” Harry insisted in his dream.

“Lots of things in life aren’t safe.” Sirius took a step forward and started to fade away. Behind him stood Oliver Wood, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, holding a brand new broomstick in his hand. “But ye’re gonna be okay. A little thing like this won’t kill ye. Yer too strong for that.”

He awoke to the feeling of a cool flannel being draped over his forehead and eyes. “That damn influenza’s goin’ around the whole country,” Oliver cursed. Harry felt another Cooling Charm wash over him and then a weight on the side of the bed lifted.

“I think I got it from Aberforth,” Harry whispered. His throat was scratchy and his mouth was dry.

“Did ye now? An’ did ye get the Firewhiskey from him as well?” Oliver’s accent always seemed stronger when he was angry. “‘Cause ye’re bloody daft fer drinkin’ so much in yer condition. Really, Harry, ye got the flu and first thing ye do is down a quarter of a bottle of Firewhiskey?”

Harry pulled the cloth off his face and looked around for his glasses. “The Firewhiskey was indirectly from Sirius. And I didn’t know I had the flu, I thought I was just fatigued from walking.”

Oliver put Harry’s glasses into his hand and sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Well, I’m not givin’ ye that bottle back until you’re better.” He had been carrying a bowl of water, which he then set down on the side table. “Wait, are ye tellin’ me you just walked all the way from Hogsmeade to Kinvarra? That’s over three hundred miles! And stricken with the flu, ye gotta be daft, mate.”

“Was it? That’s something of a record for me. I don’t think I’ve ever walked that much in my life.” Harry rolled onto his side and looked up at Oliver. “Lucky you found me. Or rather lucky I found you? I don’t know. Either way, it feels good to be in a bed.”

“It’s my bed.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

“And ye’re welcome to it fer now. Tell me, what were ye comin’ out here for? Just to see The Burren?” Harry finally got a good look at Oliver. He’d aged, of course, and his hair was longer than it had been in school, but there were strange chunks of hair missing from one place or another. His face was a little weather-worn and beaten, but it looked good on him, making him look more distinguished than anything.

“The Burren? I don’t know, maybe. What’s that?”

Oliver threw his hands up in the air. “Christ Almighty! Harry, ye don’ even know where ye are? Just get back to sleep and I’ll tell ye about it later. I’m off to make ye some soup.”

The house was very small, even by Muggle standards. It would have been easy enough to magically increase the interior dimensions, but Oliver always thought that if he had more space it would just collect more dust. And since he never dusted, there would be no point in just increasing the size so that it would look even shabbier than it did already.

But as he puttered around the kitchen, collecting ingredients for soup, he wondered if he’d sacrificed just a bit too much. He’d never considered having visitors out in this remote location, and now that he had a houseguest - even if it was just Harry - he thought it might be a little uncomfortable.

The one room for living held the bed, the one chair in the corner and a small table near the chair that was piled high with drawings and plans for broomsticks. On the other side of the bed was the single bookshelf that held stacks and stacks of Quiddich magazines, broomstick catalogs, books about flying, playing Quidditch, and broomstick races. There were two doors at the far end of the room, one leading to the kitchen and one to the bathroom. “I s’pose I ought ta make a li’l more space for ‘im,” he said to himself as he opened a tin of chicken.

Oliver’s “soup” consisted mainly of water seasoned with salt and pepper, one onion and two potatoes that had all been boiled in the water, and a tin of chicken. He let it cook for a good fifteen minutes before casting a Cooling Charm and pouring it into the only bowl he owned that did not have a chip or crack in it. “Right. After this, yer due for some household shopping, Ollie,” he told himself.

When he went back out into the main room, Harry was sitting up in bed, reading a broomstick racing magazine. “Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Oliver asked as he brought over the bowl of soup. He pulled down a large almanac to use as a table and put it on Harry’s lap, then set the soup and the cleanest spoon he could find on top.  
“I thought you were supposed to be making soup.” Harry said under his breath.

Oliver gently punched his shoulder. “Lay offa me, mate. I make sandwiches, not soup. Next time yer gonna fall over sick in me local pub, gimme some fair warnin’ and I’ll stock up on the chicken broth.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough.” He sipped a spoonful of the watery broth. He couldn’t remember ever having soup this bad. The potatoes hadn’t been cooked ahead of time, so the broth tasted starchy. The onions weren’t quite done, and the chicken was cooked into oblivion. “Thanks for this, though,” he told Oliver. “I wasn’t sure where I was going, so I’m glad you were there.”

“What happened, mate? Last I read ye were happily married with a couple of little tykes and workin’ fer the ministry doing some odd job or another. Then ye up and quit and I hadn’a heard anything since.” Oliver sat in the chair by the bed and crossed his legs.

“Yeah, I quit being an Auror because it’s bloody hard to enforce the law when everyone knows who you are. At times, I’d have a crowd of people behind me while trying to apprehend a dark wizard.” Harry took another sip of the soup. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got a few chunks of potatoes in his stomach. “And as for the family,” Harry shook his head, “things just weren’t working out. Ginny and I make much better friends than spouses.” He took another bite of chicken and potato. “Miss the hell out of the kids, though.”

Oliver took his pipe out of his pocket and filled the bowl, shaking his head. “Right, I’m not even pretendin’ to understand whatcher goin’ through, but what in the name of Merlin brought you all the way out here? It’s not like this is some side stop on yer way to the next wizarding village. It’s The Burren.”

“You keep saying that as if I should know what it is. I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of it.” Harry drank down some more of the broth. It really wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought - or maybe that was just his stomach insisting that he put something into it.

“The Burren’s a sacred place for both Muggles and wizarding folk. It’s this giant rock, y’see?” Oliver brought the chair a little closer. His eyes lit up with excitement as he talked about his home. “It’s brilliant, actually, and huge as ye can imagine. It’s 250 square kilometers which means we’re a good 30 miles from anythin’.” He motioned with his unlit pipe, nearly hitting the side table lamp. “But the magic’s so strong out here, Harry. It’s powerful and humbling, and so alive, that even plants can grow on the rock.”

Harry was speechless listening to Oliver talk and watching his face fill with emotion. His hand was frozen in mid-air, the broth pouring off of his spoon back into the bowl. He was completely lost in this description, his mind supplying him with images of rocks and crevices, of flowers and butterflies and gentle autumns, cold, harsh winters with the sea air whipping against the hills. “So, you moved out here to fly?” he finally asked when Oliver had finished talking.

All of the joy drained out of Oliver’s face. “No, Harry. I canna fly anymore. I haven’t in, oh, six years now.” He turned his focus to his pipe, looking down at the loosened tobacco, and then just tucked the whole thing back into his pocket.

It wasn’t an answer that Harry had expected. He had known there was some kind of accident that made him quit playing Quidditch but not flying at all seemed a bit extreme. “What happened?”

“Got me leg crushed is all.” Oliver shrugged. He pulled up his trouser leg and revealed a net of long scars that reached from his ankle all the way up beyond his knee. “Fourteen days in hospital. Lots of little chips of bones floating all around inside my muscles tore ‘em up right good, they did. And dun’ have anythin’ to do with the injuries, mind ye. I kin walk just fine, and likely I could fly too, if me head weren’t all muddled up with a fear of heights now.”

Harry held out his hand and wordlessly Summoned his wand, then levitated the nearly empty bowl and spoon over to the table.

“Right handy trick that!” Oliver’s face lit up again. “They always said ye were powerful, but I never expected _wordless, wandless_ magic.”

“Don’t make a big deal of it, right? It’s only with my wand. And a broomstick. And certain charms. I can Summon certain things without my wand. That’s all.” Harry felt a wave of heat come over him again, so he lay back in the pillows. “And it drains me sometimes.”

“Right, well, ye best be gettin’ some sleep. Yer still sick, and I’ve got me own work to do.” Oliver patted the bed and headed toward the door.

“What are you doing for work these days?” Harry asked.

Oliver turned around and smiled. “I make racing brooms. Championship level. When ye get to feelin’ better, I’ll let you take one out for a ride along the coast.”

After closing the door, he leaned back against his house and took a deep breath.

Recalling his accident to Harry had brought back all kinds of emotions in Oliver that he hadn’t dealt with in a very long time. Part of it was simply the fact that he had someone to talk to and a wizard at that! But this was also Harry Potter. That made things so much easier and so much more difficult at the same time. 

He walked out to his workshop - easily twice the size of his house - and began puttering around. “If it were anyone but him, I might’ve just left him at the pub,” Oliver muttered to himself as he re-arranged his workbench. “Well, maybe not. If it were anyone from Gryffindor, I’d send ‘em to the clinic. One of the other houses, I’d send an owl, but Harry Potter.” He shook his head and started working with the twigs that had been causing him so much trouble earlier in the week. There had to be some way of binding these things without causing any damage to the wood, itself.

He went back to a roll of his drawings and pulled out one that had full details of the entire broom from handle to bristles, including every charm and every spell used along the way. It was a sleek design, easily 20cm shorter than most racing brooms, but it would still be theoretically faster than the longer brooms if he could only get the bristles to straighten out properly. Along the underside of the handle, the name “Oliver” was carved in golden magic.

“Yer gonna fly for that chap in there,” he told the broomstick, pointing down at the handle. “If I have to bind ye with me own hair, that’s what I’ll...” Oliver stopped. His breath hitched as the idea finished forming in his head. “It’s all about the organics, isn’t it?”

Picking up a pencil and a new scrap of parchment, he began making notes and re-drawing his plans for the new broomstick.

Even with the soup and an enormous amount of tea, Harry remained bedridden for two more days. It wasn’t often that he would get sick enough to sleep through meals and spend the majority of the day unconscious. So, he decided, this particular strain of influenza must have been really bad.

When he woke up on the third day he was finally able to fully assess his surroundings. The bed was small, and it really was the only place in the room suitable for sleeping. Oliver, having given his bed to Harry, had transfigured the chair into a very narrow cot and apparently had been sleeping on that. It didn’t look very comfortable, to say the least.

For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt at having stumbled into Oliver’s life and disrupted him in that manner, but when he stared down into that relaxed face, bathed in the early morning light, he felt something else entirely. Oliver looked like an angel with the yellow glow of sunlight on his face and that light brown hair pressed against the pillowcase. He was nothing like Harry had remembered from school, and at the same time, this was most definitely the man he’d looked up to at his first Quidditch practice. 

His gaze drifted down to Oliver’s feet poking out from beneath a short green blanket. One of them was covered in the same kind of scars that followed up his leg. What kind of magic could have caused scars like that? Harry had little to no knowledge of healing, but what he _did_ know from his own experiences he reckoned most broken or shattered bones could be fixed without causing this sort of scarring. If he remembered correctly, only scars inflicted by use of magic would remain.

Which led him to believe there was a lot more to Oliver’s “accident” than he was willing to say.

Harry swung his legs over the bed and headed toward the bathroom. On his way, he lost his balance and accidentally fell over onto Oliver, nearly knocking him off of his cot.  
“Sorry,” Harry started to push himself up again, but Oliver caught him by the wrist.

“Wait.” Oliver put his hand on Harry’s forehead, then smiled a sleepy and perfectly gorgeous smile. “Yer feelin’ better, then. At least yer fever’s broken.” He let go of Harry’s wrist and sat up himself. He picked up his wand and transfigured the cot into a chair again and turned the pillow back into his duffle coat. “So ye’ll be wantin’ breakfast today. There in’t much around the house, but we kin go into town for a right fine breakfast at the Oaken Paddle.”

Harry stood and straightened out his shirt. “Oaken Paddle?”

“Well, only if yer feelin’ up to it.” 

Oliver had to have been standing a meter away from him, but in that cramped little room, staring right up into his eyes, Harry could have sworn he was only a breath away. “I’m feeling just fine. Or rather, I will be when I, um . . ” Harry nodded toward the bathroom.

“Oh, right. Off ye go. I’m in after ya. I’ve washed some of yer clothes and that bag of yers is at the end of the bed. I’ll go make coffee.” Oliver headed into the kitchen.  
Harry brought his leather satchel and clean clothes into the bathroom with him. He took his time in the shower, having been sleeping in a feverish sweat for two days, and made a sorry attempt to organize his muddled thoughts. So much had happened since he’d left Ginny. He’d crossed three countries, gone from health to illness and back to health again, and he’d made some startling realizations about his godfather thanks to a bit of clarification from Aberforth Dumbledore.

He bent his head forward in the shower, allowing the water to push his hair down the sides of his face. “Leave it to Dumbledore to turn my world on end again,” he told himself. “I’m beginning to think more and more that the two were a pair of shoes on different feet.” Harry washed his hair and used the lather to soap up the rest of his body. “Sirius and Remus. Of course Regulus would want to separate them. Still, I wish he would have told me.”

In the back of Harry’s mind, he knew exactly why Sirius didn’t tell him - the potential disappointment, possible alienation of his friends and family. So much was expected of him, and to throw that all away on something as unexpected as a male lover was more than he could have tolerated.

As Harry thought things through in the shower he began to realize just how many of these excuses seemed to apply to his own situation.

Doing what was expected of him.

Not wanting to disappoint his friends and family.

The public’s eye on him, following his every move.

What would happen to his loved ones if…

“Ye ‘bout done in there? Sorry, Harry, but call of nature canna wait much longer,” Oliver called from the other side of the door. “Mind if I come in?”

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and rinsed his hair. “No, come on in. I’m almost finished.”

It wasn’t like they’d never shared a bathroom before.

The Oaken Paddle wasn’t nearly as lively as it had been when Harry had stumbled in a few days before. There were a few old men at tables, and a woman with two young children by the window with a full breakfast, dishing eggs out to the kids. The bar didn’t even feel much like a bar at this hour. There was a self-service coffee pot and carafes of orange juice, water, and milk sitting on the bar for everyone to help themselves.

“Well, this is nice,” Harry stated as he took off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door.

“I usually only come here on Fridays.” Oliver hung up his coat and motioned toward a table by, what had been, the lively music stage the week before. “But breakfast is brilliant ‘ere. Whatever ye’d want. Rashers, bangers, eggs how ye like ‘em, toast or muffins.” He waved at an older man wearing a woolly jumper and heavy boots. “O’Dowd.”

Harry nodded and smiled at the old man, who turned back to his breakfast as soon as Oliver passed him by. “A friend of yours?” he asked.

“I know a few people in town,” Oliver replied. He pulled out a chair for Harry then sat down himself. He took a deep breath and tapped his finger on the table, then looked up at Harry again. “I haven’t been what you’d call very social fer the past few years.”

A waitress came by and took their orders, bringing them mugs for coffee or tea and glasses of water. Oliver didn’t continue speaking until after she left. “I come here to make sure I don’t turn into a hermit. Every Friday night, and then sometimes I come to breakfast.”

“Right, the place where you live looks rather isolated.”

“Mmmm. That it is.” He took a drink of water, picked up his mug and nodded for Harry to follow him to the bar. “And it serves me purposes. I can get more work done out there than I’d ever get done back in some busy city.”

Harry filled his mug with coffee and milk. “I can imagine.”

“But it’s powerful lonely at times, and I’m not a lonely soul.” Oliver turned so he was half-leaning against the bar and looked down into Harry’s eyes. “I’ve missed havin’ people around, but the folk like us that come out here aren’t here to socialize. They’re looking for the solitude.”

They went back to the table just as their breakfast was coming out. 

“That was fast,” Harry remarked as he unrolled his silverware. He salted and peppered his eggs, then put some jam on his toast.

“They have everythin’ ready. It’s just a matter of puttin’ what ye wanted on the plates.” Oliver tucked into his breakfast. At first, they both just ate, having been far hungrier than they’d expected. But soon after the eggs were gone, they started talking about old times.

Harry found it refreshing to talk about Hogwarts without having to tell people about Voldemort’s defeat and how he became the most famous killer in all of wizarding England. Instead, the topic went from the boys dorms, to Hogwarts in general, to Quidditch, and then to the Broomstick races that were held on the Irish coast every spring.

“The broomstick I’m working on now should fly well in the races. If I can get the organics to work with the bristles, it’ll be the fastest anyone’s ever flown.” Oliver was positively animated when talking about broomsticks. “See, it in’t just the handles. Most people concentrate on that on account of it bein’ what the wizard’s mounted on. But the brush! The bristles!” Oliver leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, laughing. “Y’know this wouldn’a make any sense to anyone else. I’m so glad that it’s you who’s here, Harry, sittin’ across from me.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m glad you found me. I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have someone helping me through that flu. It feels good to talk about things that have nothing to do with Ginny and being an Auror.” Harry laughed, and then a silence fell across the table. “You never asked me what happened,” he said in all seriousness.

Oliver leaned forward and took his coffee cup in his hands. “I reckon you’ll tell me in yer own time if ye want. And if ye don’t want, that’s fine, too.” He shrugged. “Things that happen to us are all well and important, but it gives us no comfort if we dwell. Nobody’d ever solved their future by regurgutatin’ their past.”

“Cheers to that.” Harry held up his coffee mug and clunked it against Oliver’s. “And I’ll tell you, I’ve got no problem with that. This just doesn’t seem like the time or the place for it.”

“Then after breakfast and a quick trip to the store, we’ll go back to my house. I’m thinkin’ if yer plannin’ to stay for a spell, we might oughtta make the house a little bigger.” Oliver set down his coffee mug. “That is, if you’re plannin’ to stay?”

Harry smiled. “For a while, if that’s alright. I didn’t really have a destination in mind when I set out, and I really ought to send a few owls. So a base camp would be nice.”

“Do you have an owl?” Harry asked, a piece of parchment in hand.

“No, but I have a falcon. They don’t get distracted as easily as owls, and they never beg for treats.” Oliver went out and whistled, then held out his arm. A small black and yellow falcon swooped down and landed on his elbow. “What was it you wanted to send?”

Harry went over to him and patted the top of its head. “He’s _gorgeous_ , Oliver. How long have you had him? What’s his name? Do you hunt with him, as well?”

“Well, I’ve had him for about two years now. He brought me back a mouse or two when he was younger, but now that he knows what I like, he’ll occasionally bring back a fish for dinner. What was it ye wanted to send, anyway?”

“Oh, a letter to Ginny and the boys, another to Ron and one to Aberforth to see if he’s alright. I reckoned if I had the flu--“ Harry rushed back inside and picked up a small stack of parchments.

“I’ve already checked on him. His boy Carl took care of him, and they’re both doing just fine now. As for the other two, he’s got two legs and can carry one in each.” Oliver took both parchments, shrunk them down, and affixed one to each leg of the bird. Tapping his falcon on the beak, he gave him specific instructions. “Right leg, Ron Weasley, Ottery St Catchpole. Left leg, Ginny, Godric’s Hollow.” With a quick burst of speed, the falcon took to the air and was soon out of sight.

Harry watched him fly away. “You never told me his name.”

Oliver let out a long breath. “No, I didn’t. I’ll give ye’ a hint, though,” he added with a smile. “He’s named after the most beautiful flying thing I’ve ever seen.”

The plans for the new broomstick were truly inspired. Harry looked over the specifics; he checked the measurements, calculated the spells and charms needed for assembly, and even went through manoeuvers in his mind, trying to figure out just how agile this broomstick would be.

It was mind-blowing. Harry reckoned a Seeker with moderate talent would have nearly a 10% increase in speed and agility over the course of the game as the broomstick became accustomed to his flying style. Moreover, Oliver had included safety and buffering spells that would all but ensure that accidents like the ones the he and Harry had suffered through wouldn’t happen again. Or if they did happen, the results would be far less tragic.

Oliver had told Harry he was having problems with the organics. Specifically, he couldn’t get the bristles to straighten out and stay straight with the traditional bindings he’d been using. Regulations stated that the bristles must remain free from all bindings or spells beyond the end of the handle. Most broomstick makers would use branches that were known to either be straight or have a natural curve that would bring the ends together in a streamlined tip, almost like a fine paintbrush.

However, Oliver’s idea was to use a binding that formed a symbiotic relationship with the bristles, and would work to keep them in line during flight. This would allow him to use much sleeker, faster branches than the traditional willow. Being able to use, for example, cherry or apple wood, or even pecan would make an incredibly fast broomstick without the aid of any propelling spells.

He had it all figured out. Everything except the bindings.

“I’ve thought of using human hair.” Oliver reached around Harry and set a mug of tea in front of him on the table. Harry could feel the warmth of the taller man on his back, and when that long arm reached out in front of him and pointed to the diagram, Harry couldn’t figure out why his heart was racing. “It’s right here. Imagine a custom broomstick made to work with the rider. Using some of his hair right _here_ in the binding.” Oliver tapped on the diagram, then stepped away from Harry back around to the other end of the workbench.

Harry immediately missed the warmth at his back. This late autumn on The Burren was colder than back home, and he felt the chill down into his core.

“It’s amazing,” said Harry, taking up his mug of tea. “And I think it could work. Especially if you use bindings made from organic sources close to the origins of the branches.”  
“Exactly! That’s what I was thinkin’. For example, we all know that a sable brush will always react best with oak carbon ink because sables live in the roots of oak trees.”

“And a peacock feather never works as well as a quill without some kind of holder because peacocks don’t do well with the binders in ink at all.” Harry leaned back against the secondary work table. “But what about this case? What kind of organics can you use under the metal bindings to help hold it together if you’re using, say, cherry wood?”

Oliver shook his head. “The metal bindings - I think that’s what’s been going wrong. I used to use bronze, but it was heavy. Bronze works well with organic materials, but it can’t go on a broomstick. Nor can iron. Aluminium is lightweight, but all organic materials shun the metal and it defeats the purpose of this whole design.”

“Have you tried not using metal bindings at all? Maybe flax or hemp would...” 

Oliver shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “No, something this fast needs to be bound by a material strong enough to take the high crosswinds and straight-lines that can catch ye when yer up five hundred feet.”

These kinds of conversations were what Harry had lived for when he was an Auror. He and Ron would spend hours sitting around the office, trying to figure out puzzles. But in the end, Harry had been sequestered to desk work while the rest of the Aurors went out on patrol. The department had thought it was too dangerous for the bystanders who might follow him seeking autographs and find themselves in the middle of a battle of hexes.

“And you can’t use spells,” Harry pondered.

“Not if I want to keep it regulation. Sure, it’ll fly with spells, but this broom wants to fly in races, it wants to play in Quidditch games.” Oliver pushed himself off of the wall and leaned down over the table, tracing the form of the broomstick on the drawing, then magically pulled it off of the page and sent it swooping through the space just above the table. “It’s a peregrine. That’s what I’m gonna name it, Harry. Peregrine. Like the fastest birds in the world.”

Harry watched as Oliver’s bright hazel eyes lit up at the sight of his broomstick design flying. It had been so long since he’d talked to anyone with so much passion in his work. He wondered how Oliver managed to keep it up with nobody out here to share his designs. “Amazing,” he whispered, not sure if he was referring to the broom or Oliver.

“It will be, Harry. I’ll figure it out, and it will be the fastest broom the world has ever seen.” Oliver settled his drawing back down on the paper and took a step back. He smiled at Harry, then held out his wand and Summoned a finished broomstick from the corner of the room. It had been camouflaged in with the pile of branches and handles. “Here, this is the prototype. She’s quick and nimble, and might do well for a seeker like you.”

Harry took the broomstick. It hummed and straightened out, and the bristles bundled themselves up at the end, the twigs winding around the branches to make it a thin, tight tail. “Oliver, this is amazing. Do you mind if I take it out for a ride?”

“That’s why I gave it to ye,” Oliver told Harry. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and went over to the door, kicking it open. “Git out there, go for a run along the coastline, then come back and tell me what you think.”

How long had it been since Harry had flown? How could he have ever given up something he loved so much? 

Harry mounted the broom, kicked off of the ground, and sped off toward the sea.

The weather made it feel as if they were in the midst of an early winter. It wasn’t even Halloween, and they’d already seen frost overnight, and there was a threat of midnight flurries the following weekend. Harry wondered just how different it would be, spending the rest of the fall and possibly part of the winter all the way out on the western coast of Ireland.

He stood out on the small porch they’d made after expanding the house. It had taken them two days to expand the house just by one room and that small porch, but the work was worth the results. They now shared a large-ish bedroom in addition to the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, which made things far more comfortable. The porch faced the ocean so they could close it off in case of a storm and use it as another layer of insulation from the cold. Even with Warming Charms, the cold autumn wind cut right through them some nights. 

Harry remembered back to when he shared the Gryffindor dorms with his friends in school. It really wasn’t much different sharing a bedroom with Oliver Wood as a grown man, except for the fact that he seemed to focus far too much on the man’s sleeping habits. Like the fact that, like a cat, he loved sleeping in sunbeams, and would often curl up in the sunlight for a mid-day nap. Or that the man never used ink while drawing, and would always have pencils around because he would often fall asleep while working and end up drooling all over what he’d just written and drawn. And then there was his early morning waking habit of stretching all over his small bed, grabbing his pillow, smiling like a fool, and then pushing himself up, rubbing the blur out of his eyes and rolling his shoulders before even getting out of bed. 

It was downright distracting at times.

Harry’s thoughts of his roommate’s sleeping habits were interrupted when Oliver’s mysteriously-named falcon dropped a letter into his hand, and then perched on the porch railing.

Oliver brought out two beers and set them on the railing. “Letter from home?” He asked. He Vanished the bottle caps off of the beers and picked one up, leaning against the rail.  
“From Ron, Gin’s got the flu and they’re wondering if I’d take the boys for a few days.” Harry skimmed the rest of the letter - news about Hugo and Rose, Hermione working on another book. “They’d like to come up here tomorrow with the boys if it’s okay with you.”

Oliver picked up the other beer and handed it to Harry. “Fine with me, I’d love to meet yer kids. ‘Course we ought to make some room for ‘em. Can’t have them living out here in a tent.” He took a long pull on his bottle, then nodded to Harry. “Yer family’s welcome to come out here. I’ve got no reason why not, and I might enjoy a bit of the chaos that kids can bring.”

“Oh, they’re very well-behaved,” Harry assured him. He took a drink from his own bottle and set it down. Oliver seemed to love the dark, bitter stouts from the local pubs around here. Harry had never quite acquired a taste for the stuff. But for the sake of hospitality, he drank it. “James can be a bit of a prankster, but he’s very respectful of other people’s things. Albus is actually quite quiet, but when his brother gets him going, he’s easily the cleverer of the two when plotting their capers.”

Oliver laughed. “They sound like their namesakes.”

“I’m wondering if that might not be part of it. If you don’t mind, I’ll send a letter back to Ron asking him to meet us at the Oaken Paddle.” Harry took another drink, then handed his beer to Oliver. “Oh, and Albus Severus - sometimes he goes by one name, sometimes the other. So, if he doesn’t reply to Albus…”

“I’ve gotta call him Severus? Bloody hell, Harry. Couldn’t you have named him John?”

The Oaken Paddle was busy for a Thursday. When Harry and Oliver arrived Ron, Hermione, and all four children had taken the largest two tables, pushed them together, and were already tucking into two shepherd’s pies and a basket of soda bread. “So, there’s the chaos,” Harry said to Oliver, pointing over into the corner. “The two dark-haired kids are mine. The ones who--“

“I’ve got it. Weasleys.” Oliver marched right up to Ron and held out his hand. “Ron! It’s been far too long.” 

Ron took Oliver’s hand, stood up and then pulled him into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re helping him out, Oliver. We’ve been worried about him,” he whispered.

Oliver smiled, then turned to Hermione and nodded. “It’s like a regular reunion, isn’t it?”

“It’s great to see you again, Oliver.” Rose was sitting in Hermione’s lap, nibbling on a buttered piece of soda bread, and picking out all of the caraway seeds.

Harry was overjoyed to see the boys again. He didn’t make it halfway to the table before he had his arms full of his children, nearly bowling him over with their hugs. “Oh, I’ve missed you two!” After he settled the boys back down around the table, one on either side of him, he turned to James. “How’s your mum?”

“Sick. She’s got the flu.”

Hermione looked over at Harry and nodded solemnly. “Flu, and now anaemia. She’ll be in the hospital for a few days to recover.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Ron assured. “She’s as tough as they come, you all know that. We’ll send an owl when she’s home again.” He looked over at Oliver and shook his head. “Whatever possessed you to live on this rock out in the middle of nowhere, mate? Bloody hell! There’s nothing--“

Hermione jabbed him in the ribs. “No swearing in front of the children, Ronald! Besides, The Burren has a long, rich history for both Muggles and wizarding folk. It’s a sacred place that has some fascinating magical attributes, as well.” Hermione turned to Harry. “Did you know that it’s the meeting point for almost all of the northern European magical ley lines before they cross the Atlantic?”

“I guess some things never change,” Oliver told Harry under his breath.

“Dad! Albus is making his potato swim in the gravy!”

“Albus, stop making your potato swim.” Harry scolded unconvincingly.

“I’m not Albus!” his son shouted, loud enough for everyone in the pub to hear.

“Fine, Severus, stop making your potato swim.” Harry picked Severus up and plopped him on his lap. “And James, stop telling on your brother. He gets into trouble enough without you telling everyone all the time.”

Oliver ordered ginger beer all around and a large basket of chips. James, upon hearing the word “chips” moved over from his own seat to Oliver’s lap.

“You’ve got a new best friend there, mate,” Ron told him. “And you haven’t even told James what you do.”

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded. “No talking magic in a Muggle pub.”

“Well then, after we eat a bit, we’ll go back to ma house an’ I’ll show ye.” Oliver winked at James. Hugo, the only child not situated in someone’s lap, had been too busy making all of the sugar cubes stand on their corners to be concerned with what anyone had been saying.

After Ron and Harry took turns taking all of the children on broomstick rides up and down the coast, all eight of them went back to Oliver’s tiny house.

“Auntie Hermione didn’t get a turn,” Severus whined, probably hoping for another ride.

“Auntie Hermione doesn’t want a turn,” she said as she Vanished the cobwebs and dust from the corners. “Auntie Hermione thinks her time might be better spent working to make this house a better place for four men to live.”

“Yes, tis tiny,” Oliver agreed. “I’d been hopin’ you might help with some of that. Mebbe two more rooms and makin’ the kitchen and bathroom a wee bit bigger?”

Ron moved the chair and table aside and looked around. “If anyone can help make a house bigger, it’s me. Over the years, we’ve had to add so many new rooms to the Burrow, I could probably do it in my sleep.”

“That sounds fantastic.” Oliver patted him on the shoulder.

“Aah, but it would be nice if it didn’t _look_ like the Burrow,” Harry added. “I mean, it’s fine for Ottery St Catchpole and all, but this is The Burren.”

Hermione drew up a floor plan for the house in the air and stuck it to the one wall that wasn’t going to change - the one backing up the porch. “One extra room for the boys to sleep in and one room as a playroom for the boys. Expand the bathroom and kitchen out, as well as the living room to match the dimensions of the two new rooms.” She looked around the house, then gave a puzzled look to Harry and then Oliver. “What about you two? You’re sharing a room? Shall we add one more bedroom while we’re at it?” She altered her floor plan to include one more bedroom and took a step back. “There. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Harry stared at the plans for the new house, and a pang of guilt crept up from the pit of his stomach. This was a major upheaval from the way Oliver had lived before. And none of them had actually asked Oliver what he wanted to do. Harry looked over at the man whose house was being completely overhauled. 

He looked overjoyed. Oliver was sitting in the chair with Severus on his lap and James hanging off of his shoulder, chatting with Ron about how he’d like the kitchen arranged. He looked like he was meant to have kids hanging off of him. It actually made Harry feel warm inside, watching his own children playing with one of his oldest friends.

“Right, so where do you want me to start?” Harry asked Hermione. She seemed to feel right at home taking charge of the project, and that was fine with Harry.

Hermione and Oliver would tackle the kitchen, expanding the room to accommodate a table and four chairs, and also allowing for more counter space. Harry would create a separate bedroom for the boys with another room attached to that so they would have a place to play on their own. Ron volunteered to expand the bathroom and make another bedroom next to the room Harry and Oliver had been sharing.

It was simple magic, but difficult to control. Most often, magical houses became what they wanted to be and there wasn’t much a witch or wizard could do about that. The Burrow would always be warm and inviting, no matter how many extra rooms were added or taken away. It would always have the same kind of quirkiness and personality. Hogwarts had its own personality, as well. And so did Number 12 Grimmauld Place. In fact, that was the reason it had been so difficult to clean and remove hexes and dark magic from Sirius’s home.

Oliver’s house seemed to go right along with every change that was being made. In fact, Hermione found that the kitchen needed almost no coaxing, and the counters practically stretched themselves. Harry, too, added the extra rooms with almost no effort at all. The house even added an arched child-size door between the bedroom and the play room as if it was welcoming the children, itself. The only one who seemed to have any problems with his rooms was Ron. The bathroom expanded just fine, adding an extra shower behind half a partition. But every time he tried to build an extra room next to the master bedroom, a door appeared between the two.

“You must be doing something wrong,” Hermione said softly as she watched Ron try for the eighth time. “Are you sure you’re swishing properly?”

“Why don’t you try it, ‘Mione? I swear to you, I’m not putting in anything extra, and I’m sayin’ everything right the way it’s supposed to be said!”

Hermione tried the expansion, herself. Halfway through the addition of the new room, a door popped up between the two rooms.

“See? I told you. It’s just weird.” Ron nudged her and smiled over at Harry. “I knew it wasn’t me. I’ve done this loads of times.”

“Look, it doesn’t make any difference to me. Just leave the door.” Harry shrugged.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck. “Dun’ understand it, everything else worked like a charm, but Harry’s right. Makes no difference to me we’ve been sharin’ a room for a week now; havin’ a door’s like havin’ a wall after all that.” He thought for a moment about what he’d just said, then turned to Harry. “I don’t mean that it’s been bad, Harry. Ye know? I mean, ye... well, I’d think ye’d might want some privacy. Or... something.”

There was an awkward pause. Harry really didn’t know what to say to all that. He loved waking up earlier than Oliver to watch the man bask in the sun like a cat. He loved studying the way his muscles flexed when he stretched.

“Oh! It’s fantastic!” James yelled from the other room.

“I guess the kids have found their playroom.” said Ron, smiling. “Come on, let’s get them situated. We still need to make them some beds. Transfigured benches will be fine for now. At least until Gin’s ready to have them back home.”

They all went out into the living room and drank a toast to celebrate their work. Ron and Harry each had a glass of that Firewhiskey, Oliver had one of his bitter beers, and Hermione and all the kids drank orange juice made fizzy with a little bit of magic. “Well, someone’s got to make sure we all get home alright,” Hermione told them, raising her glass of juice. She shared a toast with Rose and then with Severus. “Speaking of which, we’d best get back home. The kids are going over to spend the day with their grandfather while we go visit Ginny.”

“Right, forgot about that.” Ron turned to Oliver and offered his hand. “Great seeing you again, mate. Just give a call if you want us to come and put your house back to how it was after Harry and the kids leave.”

Oliver took his hand. “Nay. I think the house’s been due fer a bit of an updatin’. This is nice. Thank ye. An’ they’re welcome to stay as long as they want. Give yer sister my regards, and tell ‘er to jus’ get better and not ta worry ‘bout the boys - all three of ‘em.”

Harry went up to Ron and gave him a hug. “Take care of her. Tell her...” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“We’ll send her your love, Harry.” Hermione offered. “And we’ll send an owl as soon as she’s home.”

Harry nodded and waved to them. “Take care. Come back and visit soon.”

The boys hugged their aunt and uncle, waved goodbye to Hugo and Rose, and then ran off to their playroom, leaving Oliver and Harry virtually alone in this new, expanded house.

“Right. First, I just want to say that I’m sorry for all of this,” Harry started. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame to the new bedroom. “You’ve taken me in and in the past two weeks, I’ve completely disrupted your life.”

“Ye don’t need to worry, Harry. There’s disruption an’ then there’s fixin’. Now, I’m not one to say which is which, but I really dunna’ mind yer kin comin’ to stay. And I never minded havin’ you ‘round, Harry.” Oliver picked up James and Severus’s overnight bags and brought them into the boy’s new room. He had never considered himself the most domestic of people, but he _did_ know how to deal with boys.

Harry followed him into the room to watch what he was doing. “Alright, boys, line up,” Oliver called. James and Severus came right up and stood before him. “Both of ye will put away yer things first.” He handed the boys their bags. “Share the shelves, each of ye gits one fer yer things. Then Severus, you’re on kitchen detail with yer father.”  
Severus raised his hand. “I’m Albus.”

“Right, then. Albus, you’re on kitchen detail with yer father.” Albus nodded.

“James, ye come with me. There’s a storm brewin’ an’ we’ve got to bring the broomsticks and plans inside and tie down the materials.”

James nodded and saluted Oliver. “Yes, captain!”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been a captain, lad. Glad to have ye on my team.” He shook James’s hand and pointed to the shelves. “Put yer kit away!”

After the boys put their things on the shelves, Oliver marched James out of the room and out to the shed. Harry took Albus’s hand. “Come on, son. Let’s go peel some potatoes.”

The gale was blowing hard in the night. Harry awoke to the sound of thunder, and then the feeling of two boys crawling into bed with him. He wrapped one arm around each of them and pulled them close. “It’s okay. Just rain and thunder,” he whispered sleepily. Another crack of thunder and Albus nestled in closer, Harry could feel water from his tears on his side. James was shivering, as well. “Alright, it’s going to be alright.” Harry cast a silencing charm in hopes that it would drown out the sound of the storm.

A few hours later, he woke again, uncomfortable from the heat of two young boys snuggled in close to him. The storm had temporarily quieted, just raining instead of the constant barrage of thunder.

He slipped out of the bed, pulled on his jacket, and made his way out of his bedroom and into the living room. Harry looked up at the clock. Five twenty in the morning. Too early to be up, but too late to go back to sleep. The rain pelted the windows, and the wind seemed to blow right through the house. On one hand, it was good that it was warm enough for it not to be a snowstorm, but he was sure that the early October chill would have made the rain miserably cold.

“Are the boys okay?” Oliver asked as he came out of his room. “I heard ye movin’ around. Thought maybe ye’d like some company.” He didn’t wait for Harry’s answer and sat opposite Harry at the table. 

“They’re fine. Right now, they’re sleeping in my bed. I thought about going back in there, but I don’t think I could sleep what with the rain and wind.” Harry looked out the window, trying to make out the coastline. It was so dark from the storm that even when the flash of lightning lit up the land, he couldn’t see anything through all the rain.

Oliver took his wand out and Summoned a blanket, landing it over Harry’s shoulders. “You stay there. I’ll go make some hot cocoa.” The howling wind reminded Harry of a banshee. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that banshees might be involved in this storm. Between the way the rain was changing directions every few minutes, to the chilling screech that occasionally came with a howl of wind, and the fact that there was no doubt this storm had come from the sea.

After all, they _were_ in Ireland, one of the lands the banshee loved best.

Oliver came back and set two mugs filled with hot cocoa on the table. “There are two more in the kitchen under a Warming Charm for when the boys wake up.”

“The storm sounds like it will get worse before it gets better. Are you sure the wards are strong enough? I could go out and check.” Harry picked up his cocoa and took a sip, burning his tongue.

“This house will be fine. With all the magic put into it by you and yer friends, as well as what I’ve already done, nothin’ short of a malicious wizard’s trick will take it down.”  
“I was more worried about your workshop. It isn’t as sturdy and we didn’t reset the wards last night before it started.”

Oliver smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got what’s important out of there. My drawings and the two finished broomsticks are safely inside here. Everything else is just a pile of sticks at this point.” He shrugged and looked up into Harry’s eyes. “The sea will take what it wants. Those of us who’ve lived out on the coasts have always known that. An’ when up in the highlands, ‘tis the same thing. Nature, well, ye have no say in what she does and what she wants from ye. Sometimes it’s best to remember that whatever she brings to ye be a blessing. And whatever she takes away from ye is likely something ye never needed anyway.”

There was something unsaid behind his words. Harry could almost feel what it was, but a low rumble of thunder broke his concentration. “I suppose you’re right. Nature does some strange things, indeed.” Harry could feel Oliver’s eyes on him. He wondered just what his friend was thinking of this whole situation - going from a life of solitude to having the burden of a family. Spending time making broomsticks and working on his dreams and then suddenly living with a house full of interruptions and rambunctious energy.

“You’re thinking too much,” Oliver said, then sipped his cocoa. “It’s no good thinkin’ to yerself when I’m sittin’ across the table. What’s on yer mind, Harry?”

Harry turned around and looked over at Oliver. He realized he needn’t have worried. This man sitting in front of him was the same boy who was his captain so many years ago. He obviously loved children. As Harry remembered, he had come from a large family, himself. But there must have been something that made him want to live so far away from wizarding communities.

“Why did you choose to live out here?” Harry asked, avoiding his previous questions.

“Out to The Burren? Oh, that’s a long story.”

“Well, it’s half past five, and we’ve got at least three hours before the boys wake up.” Harry took a drink of his cocoa.

“I suppose yer right.” Oliver swished his wand in the direction of the kitchen and Summoned a basket of plain biscuits over to the table. “I suppose it started with the accident which wasn’t entirely an accident.”

Harry was taken aback. From what he’d read years ago, and there wasn’t much information, Oliver’d been hit by two Bludgers at the same time, both on his leg, then something happened to his broomstick and he fell to earth, crashing through the stands and landing on a pile of debris. “How was it not an accident?”

“Aye, that’s the question most people ask. There was someone in the stands who shouldn’t have been there. The pile of rock and brick I landed on wasn’t supposed to be rock and brick, and probably the most important issue was that my broomstick wasn’t supposed to break.” Oliver shrugged. “Things happen. And sometimes when they happen, it’s a way of telling us that we need to look elsewhere for our destinies.” He could see Harry itching to ask another question, but held up his hand. “Before you go on, yes, I know who did it, and no, I’m not going to tell ye. I’ve gone beyond the point of wanting or needing revenge, and if I were to tell ye, they would find some way to make my life miserable again. Best to leave some things alone, yeah?”

He took a drink of his cocoa and looked back out the window. “Because it was magic that did it to me, the scarring would be permanent. And because of the fall, I’ve... well, I don’t fly anymore. Maybe it’s a phobia, maybe not. I dun’ know much about medical things, especially when ye be talkin’ about stuff in me head. But something about being up in the air brings it all back to me.

“So, I thought about what I could do. What would a former Quidditch player do if he can’t play, yeah? I could open a shop or write a book, but neither of those things sounded like something I wanted to do. So, I started thinking about my broomstick - how it broke, how the handle shattered when the magic of the bludger plus that curse hit me at the same time. I reckoned there might be something I could do to fix the broomsticks.”

“That’s why you decided to come out here?” Harry asked.

“No, that’s how I got to makin’ broomsticks. I told you this was a long story.” Oliver smiled and took a biscuit. “I first opened a shop in London. It was just a wee thing, but my fans found me an’ would never leave me be. Weeks upon weeks, I was hobblin’ around in that cast, trying to get work done, but bein’ interrupted all the time by a knock on the door or an owl with some urgent letter wishing me well.

“One day I decided I would go on holiday and leave it behind for a week. Almost as if someone had been readin’ my mind, one day there was a glossy mag about The Burren on ma’ doorstep. A Muggle mag, at that. I saw those barren rocks with only a few houses peppered along the horizon and thought ‘ah! this is the place!’ I could almost feel the magic through the pages.

“So I packed up me things, headed out here, and spent two days just sittin’ out here on this rock, watching the ocean and smelling the breeze. It was like being home, only without anyone knowin’ where I was.”

That line sunk into Harry like a stone in the ocean. It was the same thing he’d been looking for all these years. Someplace where he could go and feel the magic, be with friends and family, but never have to worry about his followers and fans stalking him, finding him, and generally making his life difficult.

“There’s a lot to be said for anonymity over fame. I’ve experienced the both of ‘em, and I can tell you that fame’s probably the biggest burden I’ve ever had to carry.” Oliver set his mug on the table and leaned forward. “So, now one more thing I’ve got to tell you, Harry. And I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m very glad you’ve come out here. You needed to get away from that other life of yers. Walkin’ around with nothing more than a change of clothes, an old map, and a bottle of Firewhiskey tells me that you’ve got something yer runnin’ away from, as well.”

“I’m always running away, Oliver,” Harry said softly. “Everyone thinks I’m running _toward_ , but in fact most of the time I’m running away.”

“Then it’s time ye stopped running. You and yer boys are welcome to stay as long as ye like. Honestly, Harry, I’ love havin’ ya here. I never wanted to live a lonely life; I just wanted to be left alone.”

Harry felt a gratitude stir inside of him. His chest felt as if it was churning as much as the storm outside - as much as the ocean just beyond the cliffs. Harry had, of course, thought about Oliver’s accident and how it might have affected him, but then after the aftermath was something entirely beyond his realm of imagination. It was so much like his own story.

And then there was his acceptance and almost desperation to have people around that made Oliver so endearing. “We’ll stay as long as you’ll have us, then. You just give me the word, and we’ll go home, though. I don’t want to throw your life into utter chaos.”  
Oliver laughed. “Are ye even listenin’ to yerself? You’re Harry Potter! Of course you’re gonna throw my world into utter chaos. Why else do you think I’d have brought you here?”

-

The storm raged on for two more days. Not even a falcon could make it out of those winds, so Oliver’s bird stayed inside, either on the porch, which they’d protected with a spell, or perched in the now-vaulted ceiling of the living room. He seemed to like living up in the rafters, looking around for mice and bugs that might have tried coming inside for shelter. James loved following him around, going from one side of the room to the other and back again. “Can I use a broomstick to chase him?” he asked once after he tired of running after him on foot.

“Not until you’re old enough to do magic!” Severus shouted at his brother. Harry’s youngest boy seemed to be switching from one name to the other as often as the directions of the winds changed in the storm. At first, it confused Oliver, having a hard time remembering which name to call. But Albus Severus was patient if nothing else. “You’re not my dad, and you talk funny, so it’s okay if you can’t remember.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, then, since I talk funny, ye mind answerin’ me a question?” Oliver asked, sitting next to Severus at the kitchen table. 

The boy had been stacking building blocks, making his own little village. “It’s okay.”

“Right, so if ye has two names, and ye love them both, why not just call yerself by two names, instead of switching from one to the other?” Oliver levitated one of the blocks and hovered it over Severus’s head.

“Because sometimes I feel like Albus and sometimes I feel like Severus, and if I put the two names together, then Albus is always first and people say that more than Severus. So, maybe my Severus name will feel bad because it’s not said as much as Albus.” He looked up at the levitating block and pointed to the castle where it belonged.

Oliver gently set the block down on the castle and nodded. “I see. Giving Severus its due, that’s very fair of you.”

Severus nodded. “And today’s a Severus day. Maybe I’ll go by Albus later if people say my name too many times.”

In the living room, Harry was trying to distract James from the bird by playing a guessing game as to the falcon’s name. Oliver was amused by some of the guesses.

“Why don’t you tell Dad your bird’s name? Don’t you think he wants to hear it more?” Albus asked, setting down his blocks. “It isn’t a bad word, is it?”

“No, it isn’t a bad word. It’s a pretty good word, actually. I think you’d like it.” Oliver clasped his hands together and rested them on the table. 

“Then go tell him. I wanna know, too!” Severus jumped down from his chair and went over to Oliver, pulling him by the arm and dragging him over to the doorway.

Oliver looked up into the rafters at his falcon and then he looked down at Harry and his son. His breathing was getting faster, and his face flushed as he held out his hand. Oliver looked up again. “Harry!” he called. 

The falcon immediately flew down from the rafters onto his master’s arm. “Good boy.”

Harry tried not to think too much on it. It was just a name, after all. And a common name at that. Errol was a common enough name. And...

Oliver had named his bird after the most beautiful flying thing he’d ever seen. Harry.

He pulled his covers over his head and made another attempt to clear his thoughts. The wind had died down, and the thunderstorms were gone. It was just tipping rain now, but there was no thunder, so it was unlikely Harry would spend another night with his boys cuddled against him.

Instead, he was left to his thoughts. He had no idea Oliver respected him that much. Then again, he had been the youngest Seeker and Oliver was the captain who’d trained him. So, maybe that was part of it.

No matter what the reason, this name business bothered him, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until something was resolved.

Harry shoved back his quilts and got out of bed. Pulling on his dressing gown, he toed into his slippers and went back out into the living room. He noticed movement through the window, out on the porch. It was Oliver, smoking a pipe, staring off in the direction of his work shed.

Unable to resist the temptation, Harry went out onto the porch to see what had captured Oliver’s attention. As he came up close to the other man from behind, the shed came into view. Or rather, what was left of the shed. What Harry was looking at was little more than a pile of lumber and sticks, being pelted by gallons of water.

His face flushed, remembering those conversations they’d had over the broomsticks and the plans, with the thermos of tea. And how many more memories had Oliver just seen blow away out of that workshop? Suddenly the name of a bird meant nothing.

He went up to Oliver and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“The ocean takes what it wants.” Oliver shrugged. “Who am I to say that this isn’t what wasn’t s’posed to happen?”

Harry could feel Oliver trembling under his hand. He moved in a little closer and draped his arm over Oliver’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Who knows? Maybe I’m here to help you rebuild. Maybe we’re supposed to work on this together and this is our clean slate.”

Oliver turned to Harry and dropped his head down to his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This was my life. It’s what I built from nothing, all on my own.”

Harry wrapped both arms around him.

“I’m really okay. It’s just a shock. I thought the wards were strong enough. But at least the house is fine and the kids...” Oliver straightened himself up. Harry’s arms were still around him. He made an apologetic smile and took a step back. “We’re used to rebuilding, aren’t we, Harry? You lose a game, but the team still plays. It’s just a matter of fixing what’s broken and getting back to work.” Oliver put his hand on Harry’s neck, brushed his thumb against his cheek, and nodded. “Thank you. If I’d had to deal with another loss like this alone, I might be inclined to give up.”

As Oliver walked away, Harry felt the loss of his warmth. He missed the feeling of a hand on his neck, that thumb on his cheek, the warm, hard muscles under Oliver’s shirt pressed against his shoulders.

It was a feeling that Harry wasn’t prepared for. Something he’d tamped down years ago, and had thought he’d squelched for good. But suddenly that feeling was screaming up at him again. This time, though, it wasn’t a stupid boyhood crush on his best friend. This time, there wasn’t the distraction of an evil wizard rearing his ugly head up at the end of every year. This time, he would have to confront these feelings without the aid of a convenient war to distract himself.

He was falling in love; with a man again. A man upon whom he was currently dependent not only for his own life, but for the lives of his children as well. No wonder he was holding onto the name of that bird as a lifeline.

Harry spent a few more minutes out on the porch, feeling the light spray of the rain splash against him through all of the wards. The cool mist helped his heart calm down. He had to do his best to forget all of this and just go on as if everything was normal.

He leaned over the railing and put his hands out into the rain. After he’d finished collecting a handful of water, he splashed it on his face and then leaned over the railing again to let his head get doused in the rain. His mind cleared, his heart calmed, and his body no longer trembled with an ache he hated to admit, Harry pulled himself back out of the rain, went back into the house and straight into his room, trying his best to avoid Oliver’s puzzled stare.

When the rain finally stopped and the clouds cleared, Oliver, Harry, and the kids all went out to assess the damage. What actually happened was Oliver went out to the shed and started levitating the larger supporting logs and walls away while the kids picked up pieces of broken handles, branches, tools, and strappings. Harry mainly stood back to make sure the kids weren’t hurt when rummaging through the rubble.

The way Oliver worked was, indeed, amazing. He was an expert with levitation and manipulation of wood - as would be expected from his name and choice of career. He swiftly organized all of the salvageable wood and set it aside from the logs he decided were too far gone for building and would best be used as firewood.  Any large panels, he kept intact and laid them flat on their own pile next to the crossbeams and supporting pillars.

When all of the major parts of the building were organized, he began sorting the pieces of workbench, shelving, tools, and raw materials. The damage really wasn’t as bad as it had originally appeared. It would take a lot of work to reconstruct what he had before, but at least they wouldn’t have to bring out much in the way of lumber and materials.

Harry helped his sons bring the branches, twigs, and broom handles over to the porch and started helping the boys organize them into three piles, based on their wood types.

“Oi! Wood!” Someone called out. A small group of men was heading toward Oliver from across the rock. It looked as if they were coming from one of the small cottages further inland. “An bhfuil tú ceart go leor?” _(Are you okay?)_

Oliver waved his hand and smiled at the men. “Tá mé go maith. Cén chaoi a bhfuil do theach?” _(I’m fine. How’s your house?)_

One of the men shook his hand. “Fine. Leagadh roinnt shingles amach, ach gan aon damáiste uisce.” He looked around at the shed, then took off his hat and scratched his head. “An bhfuil gá duit aon chabhair? _(Some shingles were blown away, but no water damage. Do you need any help?)_

“Níl, go raibh maith agat. Tá mé cara ag cabhrú liom.” Oliver waved for Harry to come over to them. “Is é seo mo chara, Harry.” _(No, thank you. I have a friend helping me. This is my friend, Harry.)_

Harry ran over to the men and nodded at them. “Hello, my name’s Harry. It’s, uh, nice to meet you all.”

“Oh, right. This is O’Dowd, Brady, and Killian. They live up over the next ridge in those white cottages.” Oliver pointed at a row of white and brown cottages sparsely lined up over a ridge of rock. They were significantly further inland, but Harry suspected a mere expanse of rock wouldn’t provide much protection from the storm.

“Good to meetcha, Harry,” Brady said, extending his hand. He turned to the other two men and they all exchanged a few more lines in Gaelic, then turned back to Harry. “We’re glad ta hear Wood’s got kin oot here ta help ‘im.”

“We were at school together when we were boys,” Harry offered. “Oh, and those are my two sons over there. James and Albus. It was a right nasty storm. Are you all okay?”

Oliver picked up a c-clamp and tossed it into the tool pile. “They’ve got wards enough to keep their houses safe. That whole line,” Oliver made a sweeping gesture along the row of cottages. “That line’s on the magical ley. Between the magic and the fey, their homes fared as well as mine did. Unfortunately, me shed ain’t on the ley like the house is.”

They were magical folk. Harry wasn’t ready for that. He assumed from their plain Muggle clothes and the way they walked and talked that they were Muggles living out here on the rock. And they didn’t know who he was, either. There were no whispers among them talking about Harry Potter and no comments about the boy who lived.

James and Albus came running up to them. Albus waved at the men, James stood next to his father, holding a stick like a staff, and Oliver just stood there smiling.  
“Where’s yer mum, boy?” Brady asked James.

“She’s sick. We’re staying with dad and helping Oliver until she gets better.” He held up his stick and showed it to the men. “This is gonna be my broomstick! It’ll be faster ‘cause it’s all smooth.”

“Well, yer a good man helpin’ yer da’s friend.” Brady turned to Oliver. “If ye need anythin’ just let me know. We’re headin’ to Henry’s house to see how he fared.” 

Oliver waved his friends off, then turned back to the remnants of his shed. “They’re a good lot. Mostly keeping to themselves, but if any of us needed something...”

“They didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, it isn’t that. Sure, they know who ye are. They know who I am, but it makes no difference. As one of them told me once, we all come into this world crying, leave the world sighing, and spend all of that middle part just biding our time. They appreciate their space as much as we do. The Burren is one of those places where anyone can go to lose himself and find himself at the same time.” Oliver picked up a broom handle that looked like it might be intact. “Oi, I think this one’s still good!”

James was working with Oliver in the workshop, fiddling with bits of wood, and sorting out the branches. He had a real talent for wrapping the sticks, making them all fit nicely together. Oliver was busy making the broomstick handles, and matching the woods to the new binding system he and Harry had devised.

“Why don’t you fly?” James asked as he wound a few holly branches together. “You make brooms, but you don’t fly.”

“I can’t fly,” Oliver told him with a shrug. He’d grown accustomed to answering this question over and over again. It had become a canned answer that most people simply accepted and went beyond. Most people knew about his accident and assumed that it had something to do with that.

“Why not?” James put down the branches and sat on his stool.

“Well, I was in an accident a long time ago and I haven’a been able to fly since then. Sometimes things like that just happen.”

“But you love flying.”

“Yes I do. I think it’s the most amazing thing any wizard can ever do.” He held up the broomstick he’d been working on to check its balance in his hand. Almost as soon as he held it up, the stick hovered and settled neatly into a perfect parallel.

“But you don’t fly.”

Oliver had forgotten just how many times a child could go ‘round in circles and come back to the same original question. “No. I don’t.”

“Aah, then that makes sense.” James went back to his sticks. 

His response confused Oliver. “What do you mean, it makes sense?”

“Well, at first you said that you can’t fly. But that doesn’t make sense, right? I mean, if you can make brooms that fly, why can’t you fly one? Then just now, you _did_ fly one.” He pointed to the broomstick that was still hovering parallel to the workbench. “So I asked if you _don’t_ fly, and you said you don’t. And that makes sense.”

Oliver stood there for a few moments, thinking through what James had said. He looked over at the broomstick hovering in front of him. He had known for a long time that his problem was psychological, but all along, he’d been using the word “can’t” as a crutch. 

It wasn’t that he _couldn’t_ fly at all. He knew that. It was that he _didn’t_ fly. 

And to have a child point that out to him embarrassed and shamed him. After that first time he’d picked up a broom, he hadn’t actually tried to fly again. The fear had been keeping him grounded all these years, and he never bothered to challenge it.

“It’s okay, though,” James said after he finished sorting and binding the holly. “‘Cause my dad’s really good at making things happen. He always says that you should surround yourself with things you love, and you always end up doing what you were meant to do.” The words had originally come from their headmaster. Dumbledore had said the same thing to him after his first setback at Hogwarts. That sentiment echoed in his heart as he heard it again after all these years. “And you’re surrounding yourself with broomsticks. Dad says you were meant to fly.”

Harry had received a few owl messages from Ginny since the boys came to stay with him. She had been released from the hospital, but was still weak. Harry offered to keep the boys with him until Christmas, when he’d planned to go back to visit the Burrow, anyway. It seemed like such a long time, those two months, and this would be the first year she’d miss Halloween with the boys, but she agreed it would best for all of them if she rested until she was back to her normal self.

“Do you have plans for Hallowe’en?” Oliver asked Harry. They had just finished rebuilding the workshop, and James was already practicing sticking branches on the end of the broom handles with a pretend Sticking Charm - in other words, he was using Spell-o Tape.

“Hallowe’en? No. I don’t really know what’s out here. Back home, I’d probably go visit the Burrow, and then spend some time at the cemetery visiting my parents, and... Why? Is there something going on?” Harry lifted Albus so he was sitting on the workbench and would have better access to his own pile of twigs and mini broomstick handle.

“We celebrate a little differently in Ireland. Down closer to Limerick, there’s a dance. A lot of wizarding folk get married on Hallowe’en ‘round here, and the dance is to celebrate all of the new beginnings.” Oliver wrapped some more tape around the broomstick handle for James. “It’s, uh, a little different kind of dancing than what ye might know, but I ken teach ya!”

“Dad doesn’t dance,” Albus said, laughing. “He always looks silly.”

James started giggling, too. “And he falls over like this!” James pretended to trip over his own foot and fell down onto the workshop floor, bringing out peals of laughter from his brother. “And then he’s like this,” James pushed himself up again and bumped into the workbench. 

Harry smiled and then looked over to Oliver. “You know, he’s not that far off. I’m pretty uncoordinated.”

Oliver hung the tape up on a nail on the wall and moved to the end of the workbench. “I’m a very good teacher. Taught ye how to play Quiddich, didn’t I?” He picked up his wand and reorganized the workshop so that all the benches were along one side and the chairs and side tables were along another, leaving a large, empty area right in the center.

“There’d be just two dances ye need to know for now. That’s a jig an’ a reel. ‘Tis a wedding dance, an’ there’ll be fiddlin’. C’mere.” Oliver took James’s hand and brought him out into the center of the room with him, then motioned for Albus to join them. “First, ye gotta know the difference between a jig and a reel.” Oliver thought for a moment on how to describe it to the boys. A twinkle flashed in his eyes and he smiled. “Right, if ye can say ‘Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Dumbledore’ to the beat o’ the music, it’s a jig. But if ye say ‘Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter,’ then it’s turned into a reel.” James giggled at his description of how to determine the beat of the music. 

With both boys at his sides, he nodded to them. “Right. If yer dad’s as bad as ye say, I’ll teach you two first, so you can help him when he stumbles.”  
Oliver took their hands and started the lesson. “Left foot in front, then bring yer right foot up. Left foot up to yer knee as ye hop, then back down with yer left foot behind yer right knee. Now we go back left, right, left, right, and back to the start.”

Harry leaned against the workbench and watched as Oliver brought his boys through the steps of this simple dance, watching them move backward, then forward again with another round of steps. They actually were very good at learning this little dance, and after a few moments, they let go of Oliver’s hands and were dancing on their own.

That’s when Oliver brought his eyes up to meet Harry’s. “It’s yer turn, Harry.”

Harry shook his head at first, but then Oliver nodded and held out his hands. Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward. He didn’t take Oliver’s hands, but stood in front of him with his hands at his side. “Right, how does this go?” He asked.

“Just mirror me. First bring yer left foot in front of yer right foot.” 

Harry looked awkward as he stood stiffly with one foot in front of the other. He teetered to one side and then the other as he tried to balance. Oliver leaned forward and took Harry’s hands in his own. “Best hold onto me first. Ye can dance on yer own later once ye get the steps down.”

Harry took a step forward and held tightly onto Oliver's hands. "So, you said it's a step forward and a kick?"

Oliver laughed and took him through the steps again. "Step, kick and hop, then behind and hop, then step back left, right, left, and right." Harry stumbled a bit after the first kick, but Oliver's strong hands kept him from falling. "One more time, this time without the kick, just hop."

Harry felt Oliver's hands slide up to his wrists, giving him more stability, but also bringing them closer.

"You can do this, Dad!" James chimed in. 

"Right!" Harry agreed. He looked up from his feet into Oliver's face, studying his features to keep him from thinking too much about his moves.  
 _Left foot and hop._  
Oliver had a beautiful chiselled jaw and a strong chin.  
 _Left foot to the back and hop._  
Hazel eyes and impossibly long eyelashes.  
 _Right step back._  
Hair soft and fine like a cat's fur.  
 _Left step back._  
A light brown stubble just forming on his jaw.  
 _Right step back._  
Cupid's bow lips.  
 _Left step back._  
A slight flush on his cheeks and nose.

The dancing stopped, Oliver let go of Harry's wrists, and Harry just stood there, staring at Oliver's face.

"You did it, dad!" Albus cheered. "Dance with me now!" 

"See, if ye think of somethin' other than yer feet, ye can do this." Oliver took a few steps back. "Now we add in the hops and kicks." He stepped back and went through everything again, adding in a hop with each step back and kicks at the start and finish. "Keep practicing, Harry, this is yer dance. I'm sure of it."

“Well, it’s certainly a lot easier than a waltz.” Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, laughing at himself. He’d practically put himself in a trance looking at Oliver, and obviously he was taking everything too seriously. “And I won’t have to worry about a partner.”

“You’ve got to be jokin’ mate.” Oliver stood back and pushed his hair out of his face. “Ye look like a selkie’s child with those eyes and that hair. Every gerl in the place’ll have her eyes on ye. I’d say you’ll have nothin’ but partners’ fer half the night.”

“Who’s Selkie?” James asked.

Oliver’s eyes lit up. He leaned over to look directly into James’s face. “Not ‘who,’ lad, ‘what.’ Selkies have been coming to Scotland and Ireland from the sea for generations. They’ve got black hair and bright eyes like yer father.”

“And like me!” Albus cheered, running up to stand by his brother.

“Yes. And like you two. But a selkie is a seal what’s lost its skin. If it’s a man, he can win the heart of any gerl around. And if it’s a woman, she can make you the most perfect wife. But if she finds her skin, she’s back in the ocean, never to be seen again.”

“Are they real, like Hippogriffs?” James asked softly.

“As real as you or me,” Oliver answered. “And the children of selkies are just as handsome as their parents. With the same powers, but they’ll never go back to the sea.” He looked up at Harry and smiled. “And I’d say yer father’s already proven that he could win any heart he chooses.”

Harry had practiced for days leading up to the dance. His boys had picked up the dances as soon as Oliver showed them the steps, but for Harry it took long hours of practice out in that shed just to get the basics down. Oliver had offered several times to help him, but he not only didn’t want to bother the man, he didn’t quite trust himself dancing that close to him without facing up to some of the emotions that had been buzzing around in his head.

James was his best partner in dancing. While Albus, or Severus as he was now calling himself, would quickly get bored with his bumbling father, James would simply stomp on the floor, and tell his dad to try it again.

By the end of the week, Harry had not only mastered that little “hopping walk” as he called it, but a circle, a sideways shuffle, and a bunch of heel-toe steps that Oliver had showed them. Oliver had been right, this _was_ his kind of dancing.

“It’ll be a bit chilly out there. There’s only the one wood stove in the corner of the hall, an’ we’re expectin’ a frost tonight.” Oliver pulled a cable-knit jumper over Severus’s head and straightened out his hair.

“It’s informal, then?” Harry asked, helping James with tying his shoes.

“Aye. I’ll be wearing my jumper and a jacket. It’s as formal as we git out here.” Oliver went into his room to change.

“Sounds good to me.” Harry went into his room and put on his light blue shirt, a red and orange striped jumper, and Remus’s old brown blazer that he’d taken from Sirius’s wardrobe. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wasn’t sure if he would fit in well with the locals, but since he didn’t have anything remotely Irish, this would have to do.

When he went back out into the living room, he stopped short. Oliver stood there wearing a gorgeous cable knit jumper, a black suit coat, and dark gray trousers, with one boy sitting up in his arms and the other holding onto his hand.. He looked like he could have been a model in a holiday catalogue.

“Are ye ready? We’ll be a mite early, but it will give the kids a chance to make some friends before the music starts,” Oliver told him. He gave them a lopsided-smile, then put Albus down and nodded toward the door, opening it. “We won’t be needin’ our wands tonight. This is the one night of the year that magic’s so focussed, so abundant, it’s practically instinctual.”

“That’s bloody brilliant!” James cheered.

“James! Watch your language!” Harry went over to his son and put his hand on his head. “Did Uncle Ron teach you that?”

“He says it all the time, dad,” Albus said, pulling on Harry’s jacket.

“Well, you’re not allowed to say it.” Harry was glad for the distraction. Leave it to his children to keep him focussed on the real world. “And yes, I’m ready to go. It’s been far too long since I’ve been to a party.”

“Well, this’ll be one the likes of which ye’ve never seen before.” Oliver led them out and across The Burren to O’Dowd and Brady’s houses. Just beyond their cottages was a low wall, and beyond that a large, emptied out cottage that was completely lit up inside. As they got closer, Harry could see that there were, in fact, two floors - a main floor and a loft - that had been completely emptied and all interior walls Vanished. A makeshift stage was set up in the corner near the wood stove, and a large dance floor had been laid out using sheets of plywood.

The upstairs was where all of the refreshments were laid out. There were also cots and mattresses laid out against the far wall. “That’s for the little ones if they can’t stay awake late at night,” Oliver told Harry. “And downstairs, there’s an extension beyond the stage where couples can go if they need to get away for a bit.”  
“Aah, yes. I suppose this place is a bit open, isn’t it?” Harry felt his face and ears warm at the thought of sneaking down the hallway with someone. “And it is, after all, a dance.”  
Oliver led him back down to the dance floor. O’Dowd and Murphy were already talking to the fiddler, and Brady and his wife were preparing the punch. “Pretty soon, this place will be crowded. Most people out here only speak Gaelic. If you stick with me, I can translate for you.”

“Really? I didn’t know English-speakers were so rare.”

“Oh, they _can_ speak English, too. It’s just that this place responds better to the ancient languages. There’s not much left of the old tongues in English, so they keep to the language of the land. If ye get really desperate, just tell ‘em to find Wood. Nobody here knows me as Oliver.”  
Harry felt Oliver’s hand on the small of his back just for a moment, then it was gone as Oliver walked to the other side of the room and began chatting with Brady’s wife. “What was that?” Harry asked himself.

“Dad! They have punch!” Albus shouted.

“Albus has already had two cups, Dad. It’s a lot of sugar.” James added.

“And you’re telling on your brother, James. But yes, it’s a lot of sugar. Now you drink two glasses of water before you have any more,” Harry scolded. The fiddler began playing a lively tune and a dozen more people came into the cottage. “Now, I want you to stick with me for now. No sense in you getting lost and trampled by strangers.”

It wasn’t long before one of the wedding parties, along with a dozen kids and their parents arrived, and the true chaos of the party began. James and Albus ran off with a couple of boys to the upstairs snack area. A man with a concertina arrived with his wife who had her own fiddle, and they joined in with the other fiddler, a bodhran player, and a teen with a penny whistle.

Oliver had been right about Harry getting plenty of attention from the young ladies, as well. A few minutes after the music began, one bright-eyed girl who looked closer to James’s age than his own, pulled him onto the dance floor and tried showing him how to dance something he hadn’t practiced yet. When she figured out he was completely befuddled, she pushed him closer to the stage, helped him off with his suit coat and motioned for him to dance what he could.

He started in on some of the simple steps Oliver had showed him, trying to avoid the many other dancers that had come out to the floor. Another girl, who looked like the first girl’s older sister came out and started dancing the same steps alongside Harry. At first he felt a little awkward, but then he noticed that everyone was enjoying themselves and nobody in particular was looking at him.

Or so he thought until he felt a warm hand on his hip. Oliver came in right alongside him, breaking in between him and the older of the two girls. Then Brady and his wife joined in the same dance, and soon there was a large circle of them all hopping and stepping forward and backward, kicking out at the beginning and end.

One of the bridal couples came into the middle of the circle and started dancing. The band switched the tempo of the music, shifting from a jig to a reel. It took Harry a few steps to realize they were changing, so he lost his footing and fell in closer to his friend. Oliver leaned in close to Harry’s ear. “Just hold on and follow me,” he said, tightening his grip on Harry’s waist. “It’s going to get fast. If you lose yerself, we can just back out.”

Harry wanted to back out. The tempo was completely different, people were pairing off into couples and dancing steps he hadn’t seen before, and he felt like a lumbering bear who had just jumped into a den of pixies. He missed a few steps, tried to get his footing, and stumbled again. Oliver pulled him in closer so that Harry was pressed into his hip. The girl on his other side slipped away, and soon he and Oliver had joined another group of girls dancing in their own circle.

The reel picked up in speed - Harry was amazed they _could_ get any faster - and soon Harry had fallen so far behind, he had to tear himself away from Oliver.  
Ducking out of the dance had been the easy bit. Soon after he left the dance floor, the two girls who had first danced with him came right up and began speaking to him in Gaelic. One handed him a mug of punch that smelled suspiciously of Firewhiskey and winked at him, while her sister hung on his shoulder and elbow. “Aah, I’m sorry, I don’t speak--“

“Dad! You were great!” Severus cheered as he and his brother came running up.

“But you need to get faster. You lost it at the end, dad.” James added.

“Ye did really well for a lad what cannot dance, Harry.” Oliver came up behind him and spoke softly into his ear. “The speed will pick up when ye practice more.”

Just as Harry turned to face Oliver, a young girl no older than sixteen came up to him and pulled him onto the dance floor. The floor cleared and the music raced, and soon there were only four couples in the center of the floor - Oliver and the young brunette, an older couple at least in their fifties, and two other couples who looked to be about Harry and Oliver’s age.

They stood there for eight counts, clapping and stomping the floor, then started in on a dance unlike anything Harry’d ever seen before. First the four couples would dance in a circle, stomping and hopping along to the music, then they twirled around in a circle. Harry was amazed at how elegant they all looked, dancing together as if they were all part of an elaborate dancing clock or music box.

The girls went to the center of the circle and spun, touching their right hands high above their heads. Then they went back and twirled with their male partners, all the while stomping and tapping their toes to the rhythm.

“It’s called a Western Kerry set,” a voice told him from behind. Harry turned just as Brady stepped up to his side. “And yer friend is a natural set dancer. Not too many younger ‘uns are interested in set dancin’ these days. But here among the wizarding folk, we still carry on the old ways of celebratin’.”

The men danced into the middle, joined hands, turned, and went back to their partners. “He’s very good. He was trying to teach me earlier, but I’ve never been one for dancing.”  
“Dancin’ isn’t somethin’ yer born with, lad. It’s something ye learn by doin’. You jus’ watch, stick with that one for a year, and next harvest, you’ll be dancin’ Kerry sets together all night long.”

When the music died down, the set stepped apart and Oliver went back to Harry. “I think I’m about ready for a drink, what say you?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure. Oh, you were great out there. Brady was saying it’s called set dancing?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, it’s a lot of fun, but sometimes it can be problematic.” As they made their way to the side table with the drinks, two of the girls who had been dancing with Oliver came up to him again. They giggled and held out their hands - one to Harry and one to Oliver.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sittin’ this one out,” Oliver told them. 

The girls shrugged and headed back to the dance. Severus and James tugged at Harry’s jacket. “This one’s a jig, dad! We can all dance a jig!” Severus yelled.

“Why don’t you go dance with them?” Harry suggested, ushering James and Severus toward the dance floor. They ran right into the center, James choosing the bride as his dance partner as Albus chose Brady’s wife. Once they were settled, Harry headed out to the far side of the cottage where the breeze from the ocean was blowing into the door. His mind was still reeling from the chaos of the dance, the feeling of Oliver on his side, and the dread at feeling those two girls come up to him and pull him away.

Just as he was finally cooling down, Harry felt a warm body sidle up to him. “Ye’ve gotta help me,” Oliver said, smelling a bit like that punch the girls were trying to give him.  
“What’s going on? If you want me to get on that dance floor again, I’m sorry to say, but I--“

“Nah. Nothing like that. Eileen Blake’s after me again. She’s the elder of the gerls we were dancin’ with, and she jus’ won’t back off. What she sees in me, I’ve no idea.”  
Harry had a pretty good idea.

Oliver moved around Harry and leaned against the door, pressing the back of his head against the door frame. “She’s been after me for three years - ever since I came here. No matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested, she jus’ cannot understand.”

“Right, so how can I help?” Harry looked around, trying to figure out who this Eileen Blake might be. Soon, he noticed that pretty young lady with dark brown hair staring at them from over near the water jug. She was wearing a green dress that swished as she swayed back and forth, all the time staring at Oliver. “Aah, there she is.”

Oliver looked over to where Harry was pointing. “Tch,” He turned away and went outside, just out of her line of sight. “Ye watch now!”

Harry watched Eileen as she moved from the water jug, across the dance floor, and over to the other side of the room until she could see Oliver again. “Really, Oliver, you could do worse. She looks sweet.”

“It isn’t tha, Harry. I’m jus’ not interested. She’s so far from my type that I can’t even begin to list the things that could go wrong.” Oliver reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand, then pulled him outside and around to the side of the cottage. If Eileen wanted to see Oliver, she’d have to follow them.

“So what do you want me to do? Tell her that James and Albus are your kids? They look too much like me for that to work.” Harry moved around so he could watch the door in case Eileen followed them. “Or I could tell her you’ve got a wife in London. But after being out here for three years, I’m not sure that would work, either.”

Oliver was pouting. “Nah, she’d never believe it.”

“You could kiss me like they do in the Muggle movies,” Harry offered, laughing. “You know, where you pull me aside while she’s watching and we kiss so she’ll storm off and never speak to you again.” Harry regretted the words almost as soon as they came out of his mouth. “Oh, but that might not give off a good impression out in these areas. I don’t know if rumours spread fast around here or not.”

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t care about rumours. And I’m not gonna force ye into anything. But, I’m just tired of being followed. It was bad enough in London, but out here it’s almost worse. After tonight, she’ll be droppin’ in, bringin’ me cakes and jellies and just makin’ a bother for some hopes of hers that’ll never come true.”

As Oliver spoke, Harry noticed a flash of green at the door. The girl had, indeed followed them and was watching him. The music had slowed down and the band was playing a beautiful ballad. Harry could hear some people singing inside the cottage, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He had his chance. All he had to do was muster the same kind of courage he used to get out on the dance floor.

Closing his eyes, Harry leaned in and wrapped his arms around Oliver, resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. “She’s standing at the door watching us,” he whispered. “You held onto me out on the dance floor, now it’s my turn.”

Oliver slowly wrapped his arms around Harry. For a moment, he stood there stiff, and unsure. But it seemed that Harry’s words sunk in, as he tightened his grip, clinging to Harry and nearly folding him over backwards with his embrace. “Let me know when she’s gone,” Oliver whispered into Harry’s ear, brushing his lips against Harry’s cheek.

It sent a chill up Harry’s spine and completely cleared his mind. Without any judgment, doubts, or second thoughts, Harry turned his head and caught Oliver’s lips in his own. It was supposed to be just a small, gentle kiss, but something snapped inside of him as he felt that warmth on his face. Harry turned Oliver and pressed him against the outer wall of the cottage. He was a good three inches shorter than the other man, but surprise gave him an advantage. His tongue ran across Oliver’s lower lip, begging entrance, and it was soon granted.

Oliver pulled Harry even closer and kissed him as if there was nothing else left in the world. If it was a show, it was the most convincing one the world had ever seen. And yet neither of them dared consider that it might not be all show.

Harry pulled back after what felt like an eternity, gently kissed Oliver’s cheek and held both of his hands. “She’s gone,” he said without looking.

“Yeah. I’d expect so.” Oliver slid down the wall and ran his hands through his hair. “Not sure that was the best idea in the world, but at least now she’ll leave me alone.”

The music picked up again. This time it was a light and airy jig played on the penny whistle and fiddle. Oliver took a deep breath. “That wasn’t fake, was it?” He asked.

Harry took a step back. “What?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, nevermind. Just me thinkin’ on something I shouldn’a be thinkin’ about.” He just sat there on the ground for a few moments, back pressed against the wall. “Sounds like they’ve got a jig goin’ in there. Why don’cha go and dance with yer boys, I’ll follow ye in a few.”

There was something that happened in that moment that neither of them expected. Harry should have just gone inside and started dancing again. And maybe things would have been just fine. Eileen was the only one who had seen them, after all, and the rumors wouldn’t spread if just one jealous girl started talking about a man who had refused her.

But Harry reached down and took Oliver’s hand. He pulled the man up, interlaced their fingers, and walked him right back into the cottage. Most people didn’t even notice them, the dancing was in full-swing and everyone was having a great time. But when they went out onto the dance floor together and started dancing with everyone else, Harry could hear one word being passed along among the women in the crowd.

_Selkie._

True to its nature, November started with a day of rain. The boys had hoped to go out and play with some of their new friends out on The Burren, but Harry insisted that the rain, coupled with unseasonably cool weather, would make a nasty combination for outdoor play. Instead, James went off with Oliver early in the morning to help in the workshop, and Severus stayed in the house to help in the kitchen.

He and Harry were making bread, one of his favourite things to do. They’d done this hundreds of times back home, so Albus knew all the steps. He loved soaking the yeast in honey water and watching it foam and bubble while his father mixed together all the dry ingredients. Something was wrong, though. Today, Harry had forgotten to put honey in the water. He’d poured out too much buttermilk, and things just seemed out of order.

“Dad! You put yeast in before the honey.” Severus pointed down into the bowl that wasn’t foamy at all. “Where’s the buttermilk?”

Harry shook his head and looked down at the counter. Everything _was_ backwards. “Oh, I’m sorry. Here,” Harry spooned some honey into the yeast water. “This should work. And I’ll make the buttermilk.” He brought out his wand and looked down into the pitcher of milk, then got lost in his thoughts again.

“Dad! Buttermilk.” Harry looked over at Albus. “Dad, are you a selkie?”

“What?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Selkie. One of those seal people. Some of the kids last night were saying you were a selkie and that you seduced Oliver into taking your skin.”

Harry shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense, son. You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever turned into a seal?”

Severus shrugged. “You said Uncle Sirius turned into a black dog. Maybe you can turn into a black seal.”

“I’m not a selkie, and I’m not an animagus. I haven’t seduced anyone into anything, and the buttermilk is almost done.” Harry tapped the milk jug with his wand, turning it sour. “Is the yeast foamy yet?”

Severus looked down at his bowl and nodded, smiling. “I’m glad you’re not a selkie. People last night were sayin’ you’d go back to the sea after a little while, and I don’t want you to go to the sea.”

Harry put his hand on Severus’s shoulder. “I’m not a selkie. That’s just a story people around here like to tell.”

They mixed the yeast with some oil, the buttermilk, and some melted butter, then folded all of the wet ingredients into the mixture of flour and salt. Once it was completely mixed, Harry gave the ball of dough to Severus to start kneading; this was his favourite part of the process.

After a few minutes, they heard the front door open, then slam, and James came running in. “Dad! Oliver’s hurt. Come quickly.”

Harry went to James and ushered him into the kitchen. “Wash your hands and help your brother,” he told him. “I’ll be right back.” He dashed out the door and across to the shed. The rain was coming down steadily in cold sheets of water, but Harry hardly felt it. When he got to the shed, he was drenched.

Oliver was inside, sitting on the stool, holding a cloth tightly around his hand. “Ta mate. Dunno what happened. I s’pose I was distracted and made a right hash of me thumb, carved right through to the bone.” He unwrapped his hand, keeping pressure on the cut, and held it up. “Got a healin’ charm on ye?”

Harry smiled and brought out his wand. “Yeah. One of the first things I learned after the war.” He went up to Oliver, pulled up a stool and sat right in front of him. With a few rotations of the wand and a quick healing spell, the wound started fixing itself up. “Look, I’m sorry about last night,” Harry said while focussing on Oliver’s thumb. “I think things just got carried away.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to things getting dramatic around you.” Oliver chuckled. “Did the boys tell you what folk was sayin’ ‘bout ye last night?”

“That I’m a selkie that seduced you? And that I’ll be headin’ back to the sea?”

Oliver laughed. “Is that what Albus said?”

Harry nodded. “It’s Seveus today, and yes, apparently the townsfolk all think I’m a selkie who’s seduced you.” He sighed. “So, I guess she won’t be out of your hair after all.”

“Oh, bloody hell! I hadn’t thought o’ that!” Oliver leaned back and laughed, nearly falling off of his stool.  He caught himself and leaned against the work table, instead. “So, all of that was fer naught. Except maybe to establish you as a romantic tragic hero of legend.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I came out here trying to avoid the ‘hero of legend’ title, and now I’m saddled with it again?” He patted Oliver on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re not working any more today until that finger heals, and I’m afraid of just what shape the bread will be in after the boys are done with it.”

Oliver nodded. As they made their way toward the door, Oliver grasped Harry’s wrist. “Just... just wanted to make sure, though. You and I are... we’re good, right?”  
Harry smiled and nodded. “Always good.”

It was November 20th when an owl brought Harry news that rattled him to his core. The boys had just gone to bed, and Harry and Oliver were up playing cards when Pigwidgeon tapped on the window pane. As soon as he opened the window, the owl flew in, shook the cold out of his feathers, dropped a letter in Harry’s hand, and flew off again. Normally, Pig would stay for a sardine or part of a kipper, and wait for a reply, but tonight he was in a hurry.

“What’s with him?” Oliver asked, setting down his hand.

“Dunno.” Harry shrugged and opened the soggy letter written in a very shaky hand. Ron’s writing had always been bad, but this was hardly legible. As Harry read the contents, his face blanched and his hands began trembling.

“Harry, ye okay?” Oliver reached over and took Harry’s hand of cards and put them away. From the look on his friend’s face, they wouldn’t be finishing their cribbage game any time soon. “What’s happened?”

Harry couldn’t put it into words. He looked up at Oliver and handed him the letter. “I’ll get the boys.” Without another word, Harry left Oliver sitting there at the table and headed into the boy’s room.

Oliver looked down at the barely-legible scrawling. As he read through the letter, he felt sick, like a churning in the pit of his stomach. 

_Harry,_  
Ginny didn’t want me to worry you, but there are some times...  
She’s in the hospital. Right. Not just that. Hermione, please let me do this. It’s my sister.  
Sorry, we’re using a dictation pen.  
Gin’s in the hospital. She’s - well, you too - having a baby. Or at least, she’s pregnant. Mediwizards say it’s about five months, but she’s not doing well at all. That anaemia came back and now they’re sayin’ she’s got to stay in the hospital.  
But she’s not doing well. I think you need to come back. She needs the boys and she needs you. Or at least, you have every right to be here.  
Especially if they have to take the baby early.  
I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t necessary. Hermione and I are on our way to St Mungo’s. If you can meet us there, I’ll fill you in with the rest of it.  
If you can’t come, at least send us an owl. Or falcon. Or Floo-call the Burrow. Mum and dad are at St Mungo’s, but Fleur is staying at the Burrow to relay any news.  
Oh, just sign it “Ron” we’ve got to go. 

Oliver tossed the letter on the table and followed Harry into the room. 

“James, get your brother up and help him get dressed. I’m just going to pack a few things.” He levitated two changes of clothes for each of the boys and their toothbrushes into the leather satchel, then turned to head into his own room, but came face-to-face with Oliver.

Without another word, Oliver wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and held him in a close hug. “I’m goin’ with you,” he whispered. Harry stood still for a moment, then wound his arms around Oliver’s waist and let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Harry was still trembling when Oliver brought his arm up and held Harry’s head in the palm of his hand. “I’ll help the boys. You get yourself ready to go.”

Harry sniffed and nodded, then went off into the other room.

“Right, yer mum’s not feeling well, so we’re all goin’ visit her.” Oliver picked up Albus and slung him over his shoulder. “Shall we bring her one of our new broomsticks to cheer her up?”

James’s face lit up. “YES!” He jumped up and down. Albus was giggling at being slung over Oliver’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “The new fast one!” James ran out into the living room and took one of the new broomsticks out of the closet, then ran back to Oliver, who was still carrying Albus around over his shoulder.

“Shall we wrap it up with a pink bow?” Oliver asked.

“Mum hates pink!” Albus said through his giggles. “She likes red, instead.”

“Red bow!” James shouted.

Oliver put Albus back on the floor and levitated a twig from the kindling pile into the air. With a flick of his wand, it turned into thick red velvet ribbon. “You tie that on the broomstick, I’m going to help yer dad pack.”

James saluted Oliver and helped his brother make sense of the big red ribbon.

When Oliver went into Harry’s room, Harry was sitting on the bed, looking into his leather satchel. “I had no idea. I just... didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know.” Oliver sat next to him and nodded. “But now you do. So, let’s go and see her. Right now, that’s all we can do.”

Harry leaned his head on Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re coming with us?”

Oliver nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, I’m worried about her, too.” Oliver felt Harry’s hand on his. He took it and gave it a squeeze. “Worried about you, too.”

Oliver stood and picked up Harry’s leather satchel. “We’ll Floo into Dublin, then over to the Leaky Cauldron. It’ll be a lot easier than going into St Mungo’s.”

“Are the boys ready?” Harry asked.

“As ready as they can be.”

Their arrival at the Leaky Cauldron was met with more commotion than either of them would have liked. It may have been just past the boys’ bedtime, but that also meant that it was prime drinking time at the pubs.

The Leaky was filled with people. Wizards and witches from all over London were gathered there, listening to music, tossing back shots of Firewhiskey, and generally celebrating as well as anyone could in a dingy pub on a Friday night. Some were toasting the end of the week, others were drinking to a more productive weekend, and some were already half unconscious.

Although it didn’t seem like an appropriate place to bring two young boys, he knew he could just go to the back of the Leaky and take the kitchen Floo to St Mungo’s. However, now that people were starting to notice them, Harry wondered if he shouldn’t have just Floo’d into the Burrow and Apparated to the hospital.

Someone from the other side looked up from his conversation and whiskey and noticed the four young men entering the room. “Oi! Isn’t that Harry Potter?” He called out to his friend, nudging him in the ribs.

His friend craned his neck and squinted his eyes. “Sure looks it. And that’s Oliver Wood with him.” He turned and stood. “Wood!” he slurred, spitting drops of whiskey over the crowd at the next table. “Ye comin’ back to play fer Puddlemere?”

With all the commotion, Harry and Oliver instantly became the center of attention. “Great,” Harry grumbled, ushering his boys into the room. He could see Hannah over at the bar. She’d noticed them, and was making her way through the crowd, sticking customers to the sides right and left to make room for her friends to come through unmolested.

Even with Hannah trying her best to disperse the crowds, however, there was no stopping the buzz. Oliver’s former fans seemed to come out of the woodwork, and there were suddenly a thousand questions about why he was arriving with Harry Potter and his kids. Were they planning to start up their own Quidditch team? Was the rumour about his new broomstick design true? Was Harry Potter going to advertise his broomsticks for him?

“Sorry, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Harry told one woman, pushing past her.

“Really, I’ve got ta go.” Oliver picked Albus up and slung him over his shoulder again, then grabbed James’s hand and pulled him through the crowd. Somewhere, from one of the corners, he was sure he recognized a face scowling at them.

Finally in the back room, Harry pulled Oliver aside and took Albus. “Sorry about all that.”

“It’s fine,” Oliver told him. “We really ought to have expected it. I’m just surprised that I still have followers out there. After the accident, I thought their loyalties had all gone.”

Hannah came in and handed each of them a bottle of ginger pop. “If you’d sent me notice, I could have arranged for a distraction. Oh. Hello, Oliver.”

Oliver shook her hand. “Nice to see ye again, but we’ve really got get going. Do you think we could Floo to St Mungo’s from here?”

Hannah nodded. “This back Floo goes right there. I know this might be hard to believe, but we often have a need for quick trips to the hospital in this pub.” She rolled her eyes and pointed them all toward the kitchen hearth. “The Floo powder’s in the kitty-cat mug. Help yourself. I’ve got to get back out there and do some crowd control.”

“Kitty-cat mug?” Oliver asked.

Harry nodded. “Let’s just say she’s a far cry from the previous owners. I prefer kitty-cat mugs and food that won’t poison me to toxic soup any day.” He and the boys went into the Floo first. Harry took the boys hands. James threw the Floo powder down at their feet and said firmly. “St Mungo’s Hospital.” In a puff of smoke and ash they were gone.

Oliver thought for a moment, then looked back into the main room through the kitchen door window. That person he thought he’d recognized in the back corner was gone. Deep inside he hoped he’d imagined it all. He went over to the Floo, took a pinch of the powder and threw it at his feet, chasing the thoughts of random troublemakers away. After all, what was the chance that Bulstrode would be out in the Leaky on a Friday night, anyway?

There was no mistaking which room Ginny was in. In the general waiting area of the ward, Hugo, Rose, Victoire, and Teddy were playing. Then, standing in the hallway, Percy was chatting with one of the Mediwizards he’d known from school.

“Harry!” Percy called out. “So they did tell you. I’ve been telling Gin for weeks that you have every right to know what’s going on, but she kept saying that she’d wait until she was feeling better.” Percy gave Harry a firm handshake. “Oliver? What are you doing here?”

Apparently, Ron and Hermione didn’t keep Percy informed of _everything_ that was happening with Harry.

“What? Oh, Harry’s been stayin’ with me. He an’ the boys.” Oliver shook Percy’s hand and smiled at him. “It’s good ta see ye again, Perce. Been doin’ any flyin’ lately? I heard ye took up chaser games.”

Percy shrugged. “It was a hobby for a while, but I don’t have time for that now. What about you? I suppose if Harry and the kids are staying with you, that means you haven’t settled down yet.”

Oliver fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket. “Nah. I keep to me’self.

Harry tapped Oliver on the shoulder and pointed toward the door at the end of the hall. “I’ll meet you there. You catch up now.”

“We’re goin’ to see mum?” Albus asked.

“Yes. She’s just in there, where your grandfather’s standing.” Arthur looked up at them and smiled, then held out his arms for the boys.

“Well, who are these fine young men come to see my little girl?”

The reunion was bittersweet. But as the kids played, their aunts and uncles chatted, brought up snacks and drinks, and generally turned the hospital into a social gathering place, Harry felt more of the sweet side than the bitter.

Ginny didn’t look as bad as Harry had feared. When he finally got into the room, and Arthur pulled Molly, Bill, Ron, and Hermione away, he felt relieved to see Ginny sitting up in bed, holding an ever-warm water bottle to her stomach. The colour was drained from her face, but she had energy.

“Oh, look at my boys!” She cheered as James and Albus climbed up onto the bed. “I think you’ve each grown an inch since I’ve seen you last.”

“Maybe two inches,” Albus told her, snuggling up against her feet.

Harry went over and kissed her on the forehead. “How’re you feeling, Gin?”

Ginny smiled. “Alright. Anaemic.” She fidgeted with the edge of her water bottle. “I know I should have told you, but at first I didn’t know, then I got sick and the Mediwizards weren’t sure what was going to happen, then... Oh, I don’t know. It’s just hard sometimes to put things into words.”

Harry took her hand. “Don’t worry. What’s more important is that you’re okay.”

Oliver peeked through the door, then went back out into the hall. It was the second thing he wished he hadn’t seen that day. Dealing with Bulstrode was one thing, but fighting his own jealousy and inconvenient emotions was something else entirely. He nodded at Bill, then turned to go in to see Ginny. “Hullo, Gin.”

“Oliver! I was hoping you’d come, too. Thank you so much for what you’ve done for Harry and the boys.” He sat next to her and she held out her hand for him. “So, tell me, what’s it like out there? I’ve heard of The Burren, of course, but I’ve never been.” Her question was half-directed at Oliver, and half at James and Albus.

“It’s rocky!” Albus said, leaning forward. “There’s loads of rocks, and some lizards and lots of plants that look like they’re growing on nothing but rock.”

“And there are falcons and the people say there are selkies, too. But I’ve never seen ‘em.” James added. The boys went on to tell her about the storm and how they had to rebuild the workshop, and all about making broomsticks.

Then Albus started talking about the Halloween dance. He jumped off of the bed and started dancing to show her the difference between a jig and a reel. “And then the people all said that dad was a selkie and that when he found his skin, he’d go back to the sea. But he’s not really a selkie, so you don’t need to worry about him going away.” Albus climbed back onto the foot of the bed.

“Well, that all sounds incredibly exciting. I’ll have to come out there and see it for myself sometime.” She looked to Harry. “That is, if it’s okay with you two. I don’t want to get in the way.”

Harry shrugged. “Get in the way of what? Sure, you can come and visit. And if you don’t want to stay with us, there’s a great pub in Kinvarra where you can stay. It’s like a quaint old hotel with old-fashioned rooms and good food. That’s where Oliver found me, actually, when I first arrived out at The Burren.”

Ginny smiled at Oliver. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time, Ollie. Thanks.”

“Dad, can we go play with Hugo and Rose?” James asked.

“I’ll take you out there,” Harry told them. “I’d like a word with Ron, anyway.” He turned to Oliver. “Would you mind staying here? You two can catch up with each other.”

Oliver nodded. He watched Harry and the boys leave, then turned back to Ginny, who had been watching him the whole time. “What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“I think you know.” Ginny punched him in the shoulder. “What do you think? Can you do it this time?” Ginny put her hand on top of his arm. “It didn’t take a lion tamer to keep him. I figured that out, myself. There’s something he wasn’t admitting to me, and I kept thinking it was the same thing that you weren’t admitting to him.”

Oliver leaned down and rested his head on her lap. “Oh, Gin, it’s so hard. Every day, I wake up just wondering what would happen if he found out. I mean, I know he’s not the kind that would judge me. But others are. What if they see in me the same things that you saw back in school?”

Ginny put her hand on his head and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Don’t you think it might be better if you just told him and got it over with?” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I know I’m complicating things. But fate brought him out to you again; you can’t just shove that aside.”

He put his hand over hers and closed his eyes, just as Harry came into the doorway. He wasn’t sure what to make of this scene at first, but then Ginny put her finger against her lips and nodded for Harry to stand back in the corner and just listen.

“Do you want to just tell me what you’d like to say to him?” Ginny asked sweetly.

“I can’t.” Oliver’s shoulders slumped. “Love isn’t somethin’ that I can jus’ proclaim like some character in a novel. And every time I think I find the courage to say it, something else happens that makes me feelings go even deeper. And it’s so good to have those kids around. Harry and the boys saved me, and I hadn’t even known I was drownin’.”

Harry felt his heart hitch and rise into his throat. He looked at Ginny who looked up at him and smiled again. Pointing to his chest, he mouthed out the word “me?”  
Ginny nodded.

Not really knowing how to deal with this situation, Harry silently backed out the door and into the hallway. Hermione was waiting out there, just watching and listening. As Harry turned, she nodded, then patted him on the shoulder.

“What should I do?”

She shook her head. “That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself. There’s a lot to think about, Harry, and you’re the only one who can choose which part of your life needs the most attention. But we’ll all back you in whatever you decide.”

Harry could hear that the conversation between Oliver and Ginny was over. His gut instinct was to rush in and confront them head-on, but as he thought about it, he realized he didn’t know what to say. He’d go in there, face Oliver and...

He shook his head.

When he did go back into the room, Oliver was relaxed in his chair again with one arm draped over the back, and his other arm in his lap. Ginny had removed the water bottle, revealing quite a large baby bulge in her midsection. If he had any grand intentions of confessing or some such nonsense, it was chased away as he was reminded of Ginny’s pregnancy.

Looking down at her and then over at Oliver who had helped him out so much, it really sunk in how complicated everything had become. However, instead of dwelling on all of the things that he had no control over, Harry decided to focus on the most pressing issues. He touched his finger to Ginny’s stomach and traced his magic around like he’d done with James and Albus Severus. Just like his two boys, this baby responded. Harry could feel its magic following his own.

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. “You just can’t wait to play, can you?”

Harry looked up with a goofy grin and nodded. “Of course!”

“Oliver, you gotta feel this. See, if you put your finger here, it almost feels like there’s another finger tracing whatever you do.” Harry took Oliver’s hand and touched his fingertips to Ginny’s stomach.

“Harry, whose body is this, anyway?” It was more of a rhetorical question than a protest. She put her hand on Oliver’s shoulder to assure him it was okay.

“So, when’s she due?” Oliver asked. “Or do ye know?”

Harry gave him a puzzled look. “She?”

Oliver shifted his look between Harry and Ginny and then back again. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’ye know? Was it s’posed to be a surprise?”

“Not necessarily a surprise,” Ginny told him, “but he doesn’t know. Or rather didn’t.”

“Wait just a minute,” Harry protested. “How do _you_ know, Oliver?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Harry Potter, don’ tell me ye can’t tell the difference between a girl’s magic and a boy’s magic. Whatever did they teach ye in school, anyway?”

Harry shrugged. “How to kill an evil, megalomaniacal dark wizard.”

There might as well have been a Weasley Wing at St Mungo’s for all the time they spent there. And nobody felt the least bit uncomfortable visiting all other patients in the ward, either. Bill struck up a conversation with an old man in a wheelchair who was in for malnutrition and after-effects of his years of curse-breaking.

Percy knew half the Mediwizard staff either from school or from his racing hobby. Hermione and Ron made quick friends with a couple who were expecting their third set of twins. And the kids seemed to have found every other child who could run, hobble, fly, or wheel themselves into the play area. It gave Oliver and Harry a chance to just sit for a while out on the grounds and talk.

It was chilly outside, but it hadn’t snowed, so the wind was brisk, but not so moist that it cut through them. For a long time, they just sat on a bench, each with a cup of hot tea, listening to the branches in the wind and thinking their own thoughts.

“Harry, I should probably tell you something,” Oliver began, breaking the silence. He stared down at his tea, willing it to stir itself, but failing at it. The magic in London was far more stubborn and less intuitive than out on The Burren.

“You probably don’t have to,” Harry told him. He set his tea down on the bench and leaned forward, stretching his arms, then rolling his head to one side and then the other. “If you want to, that’s fine, but there are certain things that--“

“What have we here? A little bird told me that you were in town, but I had to come and see for myself.” The two looked up into the smiling horse-teeth of Marcus Flint.

Both men sighed and looked away. “Jesus, Marcus, canna’ ye leave well ‘nuff alone?” Oliver grumbled. He set down his tea, crossed his arms, and leaned back on the bench. “What, am I not allowed ta come back ta London?”

“Oh, I didn’t say you weren’t allowed,” Marcus told him. “I’m just surprised that you did after being chased off the way you were. And someone said you’ve come back to play for Puddlemere? Think you still have it in you, do ya?”

Marcus put his boot up on the bench as if to brush something off and “accidentally” knocked the hot tea over onto Oliver. “Oh, sorry,” Marcus said, unconvincingly.

Harry never liked the guy, and apparently the man was just as immature as the boy had been. “Do you even have a point in being here, Flint?” Harry stood and bought out his wand. He Vanished the spilt tea and twirled the wand in his fingers, keeping it at the ready.

“Hold yer knickers, Potter,” Marcus spat, “I’m here to find out if the rumours are true about this bloke.” Marcus turned to Oliver. “Izzit true a shirt-lifter like you fancies himself a broom-maker?”

Oliver was fuming inside. He did his best to calm himself down, counting to ten, taking a deep breath, then letting it out again. “Aye, I’ve ben makin’ racin’ brooms. I dunno why it’d be any concern o’ yers. I keep to m’self most all the time. So, if ye’d be so kind as to not bother me no more, I’ll not bother you.”

Marcus scowled as Oliver started walking away. “Do you think your broom can beat my Firebolt?” He challenged.

Harry tucked his wand back into his sleeve. _This_ tone he’d heard before. And something inside of him was eager to rise to this challenge.

“I’m not racin’ ye, Flint. Tha’s not what I’m here for.” Oliver looked over at Harry.

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to one side. “It is the fastest broom I’ve ever seen,” he said with a playful smirk. “And the Firebolt’s just a normal broomstick when you break it down. It only goes as fast as its rider.”

“Shut it, Potter,” Marcus spat, “this has nothing to do with you.”

Oliver looked tired, worried, and a little unsure of himself. “Don’t be like this, Flint. I thought ye’d grown out of it.”

“Refusing to race is the same as admitting defeat.” Marcus sharpened his gaze on Oliver. “Guess your balls are only good for one thing.”

There was nothing Oliver could say to that. If he accepted the challenge, there was no way he could fly, and by refusing it, he was admitting defeat. So, instead, he decided his only recourse was to turn and walk away.

“I’ll race you,” Harry said, smiling up into Marcus Flint’s face. “With his new broomstick.”

“Harry!” Oliver turned back and stared at Harry in disbelief. “What about Ginny?”

Harry shrugged. “We’ll race tomorrow. She’ll likely be sleeping most of the day, anyway. And since your broom’s so fast, it’ll take me no time at all to get down to the Puddlemere Downs course.”

Flint smiled. “Two o’clock. We’ll run the course twice and use the official time. My Firebolt against your bundle of twigs.”

“I’ll be there. Just make sure you’re prepared for humiliation, Flint. I’m worried you’ve missed that horrible stench of defeat that used to be your trademark back in school.” Harry shuffled his feet, kicking dust on Flint’s boots as he walked over to Oliver. “Oh, and shirt-lifter or no, Oliver makes the fastest broomsticks I’ve ever seen. You better be ready.”

“Are you sure it’s alright?”

Harry sighed and set a mug of tea down in front of Oliver. “Look, Ginny’s got a whole town’s worth of family hanging on her. She’s sleeping most of the day, anyway, and if we don’t do this, you know he’ll publish slander about you in every Quidditch and racing mag in England.”

Oliver shook his head. “I jus’ keep thinkin’ it’s not worth it. Something feels wrong about this whole thing. Why would he come after me, and why challenge me to a stupid race o’ the brooms? I thought I’d seen Bulstrode in the Leaky yesterday when we arrived. She’s probably behind all of this.”

“Why would she care about you?” Harry asked.

“We have history,” Oliver told him. “And I’m hopin’ you’ll let me leave it at that fer now. After my accident--“

“That wasn’t an accident,” Harry interrupted.

“Yes. The accident that wasn’t an accident. Well, she tol’ me never to come back, that I weren’t welcome in England.” Oliver drank half of his tea and set down his mug. “Flint’s one of her lackeys. I’ll lay ye twenty Galleons on him challengin’ me for her.”

“So, you’ve got a challenge, we go there, win the race, and it’s all settled.” Harry shrugged.

“Nah, there’s somethin’ else. I can feel it. She’s got a plan that goes beyond winnin’ or losin’.”

Harry knew Oliver was right. And he also felt that there was another half of the story that Oliver wasn’t telling him. Harry thought it might have something to do with his sexual orientation. Although homosexuality was well-accepted throughout wizarding England, it was not well-accepted in professional wizarding sports. But just finding out that one member of a team you’d played against was gay, wouldn’t justify all of this, even if they’d been a rival back in school, too.

Then again, Millicent was always quick to temper and not very open-minded. Although she had been something of a follower back in school, after the final battle at Hogwarts, she started her own clique and became something of a ringleader for stuck-up wealthy girls. 

“I’m not worried,” Harry said, finally. “She may be trying to get you for some reason, but she doesn’t realize that I’m here to help. No matter what she has planned, I’m confident it won’t work. And let’s start with us making the ground rules for tomorrow’s race. I’ll make a few Floo calls and send out a few owls, and we’ll have an official timer, three judges, and some magical wards set around the place to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Oliver nodded. “It’s all we _can_ do at this point.”

“And if she’s got a trap set, we’ll make sure she can’t possibly spring it.” Harry added. He drank the rest of his tea and nodded again. Somehow, even though he said it out loud, he wasn’t able to fully convince himself of his own words.

“Give ‘em hell,” Ginny told Oliver when he told her about the race. Seeing as how the broom Harry would be riding was actually a present to his mother, James refused to allow anyone to use it without her permission. Luckily, when she heard that Marcus Flint was being a right cunt and challenging them to some childish prank, she was all for the idea of Harry beating the pants off of the worthless berk. “Don’t worry about me. Just concentrate on making that ugly piece of horse shite look like an idiot in front of the judges.”

James took Harry’s hand. “Come on, dad! I want to see you practice.” Albus came from behind and helped push his father out of the hotel room, grabbing the broomstick on his way out.

Oliver watched them leave, and was going to follow them when he felt Ginny’s hand in his. “Wait,” she said softly. “I have something to say before you go. Or rather, I hope you have something to tell me.”

His shoulders slumped. “I don’t. And I probably won’t either.” He sat down on the chair by her bed. “I tried to tell him. Really, I did. But then all of this happened, and I haven’t had a chance.”

“You’re just like you were back then. You know that?” Ginny shook her head. “Remember when he was driving us crazy, seemingly uninterested in either of us. We couldn’t get anything out of him, and he was just so clueless, I wanted to hex him!”

Oliver laughed. “He’s still pretty clueless.”

“Not as much as you think, Ollie. I told you back then that we’d just go along with whatever he wanted. Whomever he chose was fine as long as he was happy.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not going to say he made the wrong choice back then. We’ve had many happy years, and two fantastic boys. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, and neither would he. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I was the right person for his life back then, but that you might be the right person for his forever.”

Oliver’s heart skipped several beats. He could feel the blood running out of his face and hands. Swallowing hard, he slowly shook his head. “As much as I’d love for it to be that way, Gin, I just dunna think it can happen now. There’s too much at stake.” His shoulders slumped as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the headboard of the bed. “He’s too well-known, as am I. I’ve already seen what can happen when someone finds out about my preference in bed partners. And I’m just not willin’ to risk his happiness, the stability for your boys and yer new baby, and... it’s jus’ not worth it.”

“When you say that, it sounds like you’re saying _you’re_ not worth it.” Ginny lifted her hand and put it on top of Oliver’s head.

“Maybe that’s what I am sayin’.”

“Well, you’re not a very good judge of that.” Ginny petted back his hair. “Back in school, we agreed to go along with whatever he wanted. All I want is for you to promise me that you’ll do that again. No matter what happens today, tomorrow, next week, you’ve got to promise me that if he wants you, he can have you.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” Oliver told her. He stood up, leaned over, and kissed her on the top of her head. “But I’ll try. Yer an angel, ya know that?”

“I’m also Harry Potter’s best friend, and I honestly, truly want what’s best for him. And what’s best for him, Oliver, is _you_.”

As he headed out the door, he saw George standing there, hands in his pockets. He hadn’t seen him since the accident, and wasn’t quite sure he was ready to face this part of his past just yet. But somewhere in that flash of a smile and polite nod, Oliver realized that he’d been dwelling on a past that everyone else had moved beyond.

“My sister’s pretty smart. Millicent Bulstrode is a spiteful cow and a sorry excuse for a human being.” George said, patting Oliver on the shoulder. “If you need anything, you let me know, Captain. I’ve got your back, too.”

It was cold out at the Puddlemere Downs. There was a good reason racing season was in the spring, and it had everything to do with the fact that one could actually get frost-bitten racing in the late fall and winter.

But Harry was in good spirits. He’d sent out owls and made sure that not only would there be officials to watch the race, but that wards would be set up to prevent interference from outside sources. They arrived half an hour early to check the wards on the race course and make sure that the officials were all ready to go.

“Trisha!” Harry went up to one of the judges and shook her hand. “I’m so glad you could make it. We really don’t know what to expect from today, and I know Oliver’s been meaning to get an official time on his broomstick.”

Trisha McGovern was an internationally-known broomstick racing judge from Canada. She’d come over to England for the racing season two years before, married one of the other judges, and never looked back. “It’s good to see you, Harry. I’m looking forward to seeing it. We also have to make sure the broomstick is regulation size, materials, and magic, you know.”

“Of course.” Harry motioned for James and Albus to come up to the judges. They had been sitting in the stands with the broomstick, waiting for their father.  
Both boys and Oliver joined Harry. The boys gave their father the broom.

“I present to you the first racin’ broom from the Peregrine Broom Workshop of The Burren, Ireland,” Oliver told her as Harry handed it over to her. “Regulation size, although shorter than most.”

“Indeed.” Trisha motioned for the two other judges to come and take a look at the broomstick. They cast a few measuring charms on it, then examined the materials, the construction, and finally scanned for magic. Trisha seemed puzzled, and yet, impressed. “These branches are cherry, aren’t they?”

“Aye,” Oliver said, smiling. He knew what she was about to ask.

“But cherry wood is notorious for being difficult to control in constructing the bristles. How did you manage to keep them all in order and in line without using magic?” She scanned for magic again, then shook her head.

Oliver stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s all in the organics. Harry and I worked on the concept this fall. I’ll not tell ya my secrets, but I can give ya a clue. Take a look at the bindings, the handle, and then look at the branches. There’s nothing unusual about any of them, but if ye put it all together...”

“It’s super-fast!” James finished. “That broom’s for my mum when she gets better. But dad’s gonna fly it today.”

Trisha gasped. “Oh, you’re just too clever,” she whispered. Looking up at Harry, she smiled and then laughed. She turned to Oliver. “If this works, and I’m still not entirely sure it will, but if it does, then you’ve done something that could change racing forever.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Oliver looked down at the broomstick. He took it from the judges and ran his fingers along the binding one more time. “Keep him safe,” he whispered, then gave it to Harry.

On the other end of the field, Marcus Flint and an entire flock of followers entered the course. “What’s all this, then? Gathered your friends to watch you fall - I mean _fail_?” He made his way up to the stands, then stopped short.

“Oh, you probably know Trisha McGovern, don’t you? Well, since this racer hasn’t been used in an official competition yet,” Harry patted the broomstick, “I reckoned we best make this all official so nobody can be accused of cheating today. So far, it’s been declared regulation-compliant and safe for flying, so all that’s left is to watch it go.” Harry brushed past Flint on his way down to the starting box. “Oh yes, this will be an official race. I want the world to know just how fast this broom is.”

Marcus nodded to his friends and motioned to the stands. “Get up there and watch me win,” he ordered. There were some people Harry recognized - Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott. But also several people who didn’t look like they belonged in this crowd. They were somewhat older, and not the racing sort.

Oliver immediately knew who they were, and they struck fear into his core. He grabbed James and Albus’s hands and led them to the far end of the stands, then sat them down. “No matter what happens, after the race, I want ye to go with your dad. Grab onto him, and take him away. Tell ‘im ye need to get the broom back to Gin’ and tell her all about the race, alright?”

The boys nodded. “Is something wrong, Oliver?” James asked.

“Something might be wrong if we don’t get back and tell yer mum that we won. I made a promise to her before we left. An’ ye need to help me keep it.”  
Albus smiled with a big, toothy grin. “Mum needs to know how fast her broom is. So when she gets better she can race, too.”  
Oliver patted him on the head, then walked down to the starting box. Flint was still up in the stands talking to Millicent Bulstrode. It looked as if she was scolding him about something.

“What’s with all of those other people?” Harry asked. He tightened the belt on his coat and began tucking his trouser legs into his boots.

“Reporters,” Oliver grumbled. “This could get pretty ugly after the race. Win or lose, there’s likely to be a scene. I told the boys to get you out of here afterwards.”

“What? I’m not leaving without knowing the time or specs.”

“Oh, so ye’d rather yer boys be hounded by reporters tryin’ to get tomorrow’s gossip about ye?” Oliver put his hand on Harry’s neck and then patted his head. “Go on, then. Just win the race and fly yer boys outta here. I’ll talk to the reporters when yer done.”

There was no question in Harry’s mind that he’d win the race. With a broom that was tuned directly into his magic, at a scale and with bindings that matched Harry’s own wand, the broomstick was bound to comply with his every move. At this point, it was just a matter of how well Harry navigated the course. In some ways, he was at a disadvantage because he’d never flown this course before. But he’d studied it well, and there were only two corners with tricks in them. For the most part, it was a simple course that focussed on straight line speed.

As Oliver left the starting box, Marcus Flint entered it. “Out of my way, Wood.”

They ascended the stairs on the box to stand on top. Each man mounted his broom and waited for the starting flare. Up on the starting box, it was even more prominent, the difference in size between the Firebolt and the Peregrine. It was generally held that the longer, sleeker broomsticks were ideal for racing. But if Harry and Oliver were correct, the size didn’t matter at all, and it was far more important to match the materials to the magic of the rider.

When both men were hovering steadily over the box, one of the officials set off the flare and the racers were off.

The new generation of Firebolt was fast. It was actually very fast, and a much better manoeuvring broom than anything that had come before. So, right at the start, Flint tore ahead of Harry right for the first checkpoint. 

Harry knew that his broom would be slower at the start. That was part of the genius in the design. The first time anyone rode the broomstick, it would be a little sluggish for the first few seconds out of the gate. Still fast, but not nearly as quick as most other broomsticks. But that was only until the rider’s magic and the innate magic in the broom synced. As soon as Harry felt his own magic turn around and reciprocate on itself, the broom kicked into high gear.

He made it past the first checkpoint and headed directly toward the first roundabout. Marcus was already at the next checkpoint, but Harry was catching up quickly. Zipping in and around the roundabout, the Peregrine certainly lived up to its name. Harry pulled up, then dove down directly at Flint’s heels. There were four more checkpoints in this course, and Harry was already caught up with his adversary.

As they rounded the third point, Harry took the outside while Flint hugged the inner curve. But even with the inside advantage, it wasn’t enough to prevent Harry from passing. Working the third dimension, Harry dove and went under Flint, zipping past him toward the next point. The broomstick was thrumming with his magic. Harry could feel the cherry and holly branches push him forward, and the feather wrapped up in the bindings stabilized him as he dashed through the next checkpoint.

He could hear Flint cursing. 

Flint leaned forward and urged his broomstick onward, pushing it with all of his magic. He came close to Harry, but his longer broomstick wasn’t nearly as nimble as Harry’s. There were two hairpin turns coming up, and he knew he would have to slow down for them. The smaller broomstick would certainly win in those. But then there was one long straightaway. If he could keep Harry in his sight, he was certain he could overtake him on that long stretch.

However, he had no idea just how fast the Peregrine could be. As Harry flew, everything about the broomstick became easier to handle. He could urge it on with his thoughts now, and even the hairpins were so much simpler. All he had to do was run through the course in his mind, and the broomstick would take him along for the ride. 

When they were finally on the last length of the course - that straightaway, Harry looked back for a moment. Flint was coming out of the hairpin curves and crouched low over the broomstick handle. In a race against any other broom, he would likely overtake them. But there was one more thing Harry could do to speed everything up. He leaned forward until he was practically laying on the broomstick handle, and pushed his feet further back over the bristles. Using his shoulders to counter-balance the broom, he brought his head down and urged the broom forward, pinching the bristles between his ankles as he flew.

The jolt was enough to set the Peregrine off again, zipping past the final checkpoint, and up over the stands. 

Down on the ground, Oliver was grinning from ear to ear. He had known it was a fast broom, and was confident that Harry would win, but to win by a full ten lengths against a Firebolt on a course with three straightaways, was straight out of his dreams. Everything they’d included in the design had worked like a charm. As per regulations, the broomstick itself had very little magic, but the more the rider flew, the more of the rider’s own magic would pour into the broom, making it a symbiotic relationship between rider and broomstick.

Intertwining holly branches with the speedy cherry wood, they had effectively contained the chaos of the cherry and turned the broomstick itself into a makeshift wand for Harry. Luckily Ginny also used a wand made of holly, so Harry could easily fly her broom as well as any broom made specifically for him.

And then there was the addition of feathers from the peregrine falcon.

“Beautiful,” Trisha gasped as Harry landed before the stands.

Oliver ran down to greet Harry, shaking his hand and then pulling him in for a hug. “It was perfect! You were amazing!”

Harry smiled and gasped. “Oliver, this is bloody brilliant! Everything worked. I could feel the same kind of warmth coming from the broomstick as came from my wand when I first picked it up.” He held the broom aside and hugged Oliver again, this time, falling into his shoulder with exhaustion. “You’re incredible, Oliver,” he whispered. “And I’m completely drained, but part of me wants to get right back up there and fly again.”

Flint marched up to them, throwing his Firebolt on the floorboards of the stands as he approached. “Whatever _that_ thing is, it’s no broom. Just like you to cheat, Wood.”

Trisha and the two judges came down to all three of them and stood between Flint and Oliver. “Mr Flint,” she shouted with a sharp edge to her voice. After years of judging, she’d learned how to get the attention of sore losers. “My colleagues and I would like to have a word.” Her demeanour had gone from amazement and congratulatory to quite serious.

At first he looked over at her with a scowl, but when he saw that challenge in her eyes, his anger shifted to defiance. “What?”

“We would like to remind you just what constitutes a fair race.” She took a step back and motioned toward Harry. “First, by congratulating your adversary on a race well flown.”

Flint obviously had no intention of shaking Harry’s hand. He scoffed and crossed his arms.

Just then, James came running up and pulled on Harry’s coat. “Dad, we have to go.” His voice was cracking and his eyes were red. Albus came right up behind him, crying, then Harry looked over and saw Ron standing a few paces behind them.

“Oh, God!” Harry gasped. He shoved the broomstick into Oliver’s hands and looked up at him.

“Go!” Oliver told him, shooing him away. “Whatever it is, just go. This doesn’t... just go!”

Harry picked up Albus, took James’s hand and ran off to Ron. A few moments later, as soon as they were out of the wards of the racecourse, they Apparated away.

“What was that?” Marcus spat.

Trisha looked over at Oliver. “Is something wrong?”

Oliver felt sick at the thought of anything happening to Ginny or the baby. His gut instinct was to go with them, but he had to take care of the mess here, first. “I certainly hope not.”

Arthur met them at the end of the hall when they arrived. “She’s stable again,” he said to Ron. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Harry. “Let’s go get some tea and have a chat. Ronald can take the kids.”

They went down to a small waiting room at the end of the hall where the tea lady kept her trolley. Harry wasn’t quite sure they ought to have been helping themselves to the tea, but Arthur looked so comfortable doing it and Harry was so worried about Ginny and the baby, that he didn’t say anything.

“I know we haven’t been telling you much about what’s going on. Part of that’s because Ginny told us that you had gone off to have a think after... well, after you left.” He put three lumps of sugar in Harry’s tea cup and four in his own. “Before I tell you anything else, I just want to let you know that we still think of you as one of our own. No matter what happens, that will always be the case. Right?”

Harry took his tea, looked at the lumps of sugar still dissolving in the bottom of the cup and cringed inwardly. He wasn’t concerned with all of this small-talk, he just wanted to know what was going on. It took him a few moments to realize that Arthur was waiting for an answer. “Oh, right. You’re as much a father to me as anyone could be,” Harry said. “What’s going on with Ginny?”

“Well, it started with that bad flu she had at the end of summer. All of us had it, and it really was a nasty affair, but what none of us knew was that she was already pregnant. So, the flu, coupled with the baby brought on anaemia, and she’s never really recovered. Her mother had all of us eating liver for weeks in some great concerted effort, but she was still weak at the end of it all. I’ll tell you, Harry, it was a bad affair. Be glad you weren’t around for the great liver debacle. Even Bill and Fleur had to choke down liver and onions for a week because Molly insisted that--”

“So, you ate liver and she was still sick.” Harry tried to get Arthur back on track in the telling of his story. He took a sip of his tea, forgetting how sweet it was and almost spat it back into the cup.

“She was still sick, but she put on a brave face and went about business as usual for a while. None of us knew that there was anything else wrong.” His voice started cracking. “It’s one of her inside pieces, y’see? I don’t really know which one. Molly would know. But, something in that flu damaged it to where it isn’t working properly anymore.”

Harry nodded. “So, what’s going on now? What are they going to do?”

Arthur put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “They’re going to take the baby out. It’s just putting too much strain on her. An’ they say that the little one might have a good chance, but if they don’t do anything, we might lose both of ‘em.”

Those were the words that Harry was dreading. When he heard about Ginny being sick, and about the baby, he wondered if the two were connected in some way.

“So, what’s going on now? Can I see her?” Harry set down his cup of tea, not trusting his trembling hand.

“They’re getting her ready right now, so nobody can see her. But they’ll be out to tell us how things are going soon.” Arthur downed his tea and made a face. “How much sugar did I put into this thing? They took her away just a half an hour ago.”

Arthur led them back to a waiting area where more and more people were gathering. Not only all of the Weasleys and their kin, but several other Mediwizards and Healers from the ward. There was one question Harry wanted to ask, but he was too afraid of the answer to put it into words just yet. Still, it plagued his mind. _How likely was a baby, taken at five gestational months, to survive?_

They’d waited in an awkward silence for a quarter of an hour before the children started making noises and got back to playing with each other. Harry’s boys didn’t know much about their mother’s condition, only that she was going in for some kind of operation and they couldn’t see her for a while.

Shortly after that, Oliver came into the room. He went directly over to Harry. “You alright?”

Harry looked up and nodded.

“Is she alright?”

Harry shrugged.

“Shove over,” Oliver told him.

Oliver sat down next to him and took his hand, interlacing their fingers. Harry leaned his head over on Oliver’s shoulder. Bill and Charlie exchanged glances as they began putting the pieces together. Percy raised his eyebrows, looking at George and nodded in the direction of Harry and Oliver. George smiled and shrugged. Ron just sat there, smiling to himself.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the Healers came out to them.

“Mr Potter, would you come with me, please?” Her smile didn’t look forced, and she certainly wasn’t bringing the worst news.

“Oh, yes.” He let go of Oliver’s hand and followed the Healer down the hallway, through a set of double doors beyond which were the operating and recovery rooms.  
She brought Harry up to a room that was nearly bursting with magic. He could feel wards, protection spells, healing spells, and warming charms all around. Through a glass window, he saw a tiny, brown and red human wrapped up in charms. Harry was sure she would be no bigger than his hand if he held her.

“Mr Potter, I wanted to show you that we’re doing everything we can for her. If she was three weeks younger, she likely would not have survived the removal process. However, at 23 weeks, there’s still a chance.” The woman turned to look at the baby. “It isn’t much of a chance, though. Even with magic, there’s still only a 50% survival rate when they’re this young.”

Harry held his hand up to the glass, not taking his eyes off of his daughter. “How’s Ginny doing?”

“She’s alright. She will be unconscious for a while, though. I can’t take you to her yet. She’s also still under several wards and spells. We’re trying to repair her liver and grow her new pancreas. But even if that’s unsuccessful, she will still be alright. She’s got a lot of spark in her, and a long recovery, but she can do it.”

Harry nodded. “Is there anything else I can do? When will you know anything more?” He just stared at the tiny baby through all of the wards. He could see her chest rise and fall as she breathed, and every now and again, one of her hands would curl up into a fist and then relax again.

“Tomorrow,” she told him. “We have a private room set up for you to sleep here tonight if you like. It isn’t as comfortable as a hotel room, but it’s closer.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. “Can I stay here for a little while longer?”

The Healer put her hand on his shoulder. “Stay as long as you like. Would you like to be alone, or should I tell the others?”

Harry’s first instinct was to have her bring Oliver back. Although the rest of the family would comfort him just as much, Oliver was the only one upon whom Harry wanted to cry. However, the others might be hurt if they didn’t get a chance to see this new addition to their family. Especially if her chance of survival was so low. Harry’s stomach turned at the thought.

“It’s okay if you bring them. Maybe not all at once.”

By the end of the day, Harry was so exhausted he really didn’t care what the room was like. There was a bed and a table. On one wall there was a window and on another wall a painting of some sort. He wasn’t even fully aware than anyone had come with him to help him settle into the room until he saw that leather satchel plopped down on the bed.  
Harry turned and looked up at Oliver, then took off his glasses, leaned over and rested his head on Oliver’s shoulder. “I’m being selfish. I know that.”

“There’s no such thing as selfish fer you, Harry. Especially after a day like today.” Oliver brought one arm around and placed it in the middle of Harry’s back. “It’s about time you relaxed and let someone take care of you fer a change. The boys’ll be with Hugo and Rose until tomorrow morning. George was sayin’ that Teddy and Andromeda will be here tomorrow, as well. So best ye get some sleep for tonight.”

Harry wrapped both of his arms around Oliver’s waist. “Stay with me.” He said softly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Oliver took a deep breath and tried to tamp down his emotions. No matter how much he was in love with this man, and how much Ginny insisted it was his turn, he just wouldn’t take advantage of a situation like this. “Harry,” he said softly in a low voice. “I’ll do whatever ye want. You know that. But I just want to clarify somethin’. What Flint had said about me, that shirt-lifter comment…”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry hugged him tighter. “You can tell me all about lifting shirts another day. For tonight, I just want to hold onto you until I sleep, and then wake up with your arms still around me in the morning. Whatever else happens is up to you.” 

Harry’s words stirred up more emotions than Oliver could control. He brought his hands up to Harry’s face, tilted it up, and pressed their lips together. The kiss was only chaste for a moment before both men let their inhibitions go and deepened it into something much more passionate.

With his eyes closed, Oliver could only taste and feel, holding on tightly to Harry’s stubbly jaw, tasting the salty tears in his mouth, feeling Harry’s arms and hands on his torso. He pressed his groin against Harry’s thigh, showing the other man just how much he needed and wanted this.

And although Oliver wasn’t sure what the response would be, he was assured when Harry brought his thigh in closer, pressing against him and offering him some more stimulation. When Oliver lowered his hand, trailing along Harry’s chest, and further down, he was relieved to feel that Harry was just as aroused.

Breaking the kiss, Oliver reached over to his jacket and brought out his wand. He locked the door, then set his wand on the bedside table. “Tell me if any of this is too much.”  
“It’s not enough,” Harry gasped, grabbing Oliver’s hand and bringing it to his groin.

Oliver made quick work of Harry’s button and fly. He reached down into Harry’s pants and ran his hand along the length of his cock. “I’ve gotta tell ya,” Oliver whispered into Harry’s ear, “I’ve been dreamin’ of this since b’fore it was appropriate to have such dreams.” 

Harry pushed his pants and trousers down off of his hips and unbuttoned his shirt. “To be perfectly honest,” Harry said, sitting down on the bed, “so have I.”

Not a moment later, Oliver was down on one knee, taking as much of Harry into his mouth as he could. Harry let out a long moan and leaned back on his elbows, arching his torso and tilting back his head. “Oh, God!” It was the most amazing feeling. Harry could feel his cock twitch in Oliver’s mouth as that wet warmth enveloped him.

He was remotely aware that Oliver had also unfastened his trousers and had begun stroking himself while servicing Harry. In the back of Harry’s mind, this didn’t seem right, but at the same time, he was experiencing too much pleasure to find the words to express that. It had been so long since he’d had any sort of sexual stimulation other than a quick wank in the shower. Harry felt that familiar pressure building up already. “Oliver, wait,” he gasped, pulling himself back on the bed. “Wait. I’m too close.”

Oliver looked up at Harry’s flushed face, then practically sprung on him, kissing him deeply. Harry could taste the thick heady flavour of his own cock in Oliver’s mouth, bringing him even closer, even though the physical stimulation was gone. They fell back on the bed together, Oliver on top, pressing his own erection against Harry’s.

Harry reached down and took Oliver’s cock in his hand. It was longer and thicker than his own, with a broad tip. Oliver leaned down and pressed his head into Harry’s shoulder. “Fuck!” he gasped. “I promised m’self I wouldn’a take ye tonight, but dammit yer tryin’ to turn me into a liar.”

Although he’d never had sex with a man before, Harry knew that he wanted  - _needed_ \- to make love to Oliver. Ha had a basic idea of how things worked, but needed some way of telling Oliver to take charge. He wanted it, but he wanted it to be done right. He took Oliver’s hand in his own and moved it down to his arse. “You’re a liar, Oliver. Now teach me.”

“God, Harry, and I didn’t think I could want you any more.” He ran his finger along Harry’s perineum with his one hand, then grabbed his wand with the other  
Being in a hospital room, Oliver had no trouble finding lubricant in the Mediwizard’s cabinet. Summoning a tube of jelly, he set his wand aside and sat back on his heels. Seeing Harry sprawled out in front of him, wearing only his unbuttoned white shirt and socks, Oliver nearly came from the sight of him. He flipped the cap on the tube and put some of the slick gel on his fingers, then leaned over and kissed the crown of Harry’s cock. “Yer just about the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry arched as he felt Oliver’s slick fingers run along his arsehole. He had no idea that place could be so stimulating. It felt strange at first when Oliver slid one finger inside of him. Harry spread his legs apart as Oliver leaned over him again. “You jus’ tell me if anything’s too much. I’ll go slow, and I’ll try not to get carried away with m’self.”

“Just do it,” Harry said softly. He wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. 

Oliver inserted a second finger and began moving them in and out, stretching and softening Harry’s hole with his knuckles. With his other hand, he squeezed some of the lubricant on his own cock and coated it thoroughly. “I dun’ wanna hurt ye, but there’s always gonna be a bit of a stretch. Jus’ tell me if it’s too much.”  
Harry nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Oliver captured Harry’s mouth in a kiss as he slowly pushed inside. Harry was warm, welcoming, relaxed, and with all that preparation and lubricant, penetrating him wasn’t nearly as difficult as Oliver had expected. Once the tip was fully inside, Oliver paused to let Harry grow accustomed to the feeling. “Ye alright?” Oliver asked.

Harry nodded. He was grasping the sheets in his hands, and from his face, he looked like he was in some pain. But Oliver trusted him to say something if he truly was hurting. Leaning forward, and bracing his arms on either side of Harry’s head, Oliver pressed in further, then pulled back a bit and pushed all the way in. “That’s me, Harry,” Oliver whispered. “I’m all inside of ye.” He slowly rocked his hips back and then pushed in again. “Are ye okay?”

It wasn’t like anything Harry had ever experienced before. He felt warm and chilled, and yet full. He wanted this so badly - worse than he’d expected, and at the same time, he wasn’t sure he could survive this much pleasure and pain at the same time. And as he lay there, Oliver’s words echoed through his head. _That’s me, Harry. I’m all inside of ye._

Harry wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck. “Move faster,” he implored, gasping as he pushed down on Oliver’s cock. “I need this tonight.” He closed his eyes and focussed on the feeling of having a man’s cock in his arse. Not just any man, but Oliver Wood. He pulled his knees up further, allowing Oliver to go deeper.

He could feel his own cock dripping pre-come on his stomach as Oliver picked up the pace. Oliver’s cock brushed against something inside of him that made him cry out in pleasure. “God!” Harry pulled Oliver’s head down to his chest. “Fuck! What the.... Again!”

Oliver smiled. He had to slow down or he’d come too fast himself, aiming straight forward, he started with the shallow movements, rubbing right up against Harry’s sweet spot all the time. He kissed Harry’s chest and licked across to his nipple, taking it into his mouth.

That was the last of Harry’s composure. He felt his balls clench, his climax take over, and he came all over his chest and Oliver’s chin.

The tightening of Harry’s arse from his climax was Oliver’s undoing, as well. He arched his back, pressed deep inside Harry once, twice, and then found his release while still inside. Oliver fell over onto Harry, his cock still half-hard inside. Harry wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He pulled out of Harry, and curled up along Harry’s side. He kissed Harry’s shoulder. “I love you, Harry.”

Harry felt all the blood rush up to his face. “I... Oliver?”

“No, it’s alright. Ye don’ need to say anything. It’s just been sittin’ in my heart for a long time, and I needed to say it.” He reached over for his wand, Vanished the mess away, and put his wand back on the bedside table. “Now, ye need to sleep. You’ve got a long day t’morrow.”

Harry lay down on Oliver’s shoulder and wrapped one arm around his waist. He’d wanted to tell the man that he loved him, too, but the moment had passed and now the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. Instead, Harry kissed Oliver’s collarbone. “Good night, Oliver,” he whispered, “please be here in the morning.”

“I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”

The next morning was a whirlwind of chaos. Not only had Ron and Hermione brought Hugo, Rose, James, and Severus with them, but Andromeda was there with Teddy, Bill had brought Victoire, and Charlie had brought Innsmouth, his baby bat-faced dragon. Ginny was still in the recovery ward, tired from pain draughts and healing spells, and of course the baby was still in the magical care unit. So, everyone was waiting in the same common area they’d been occupying for the past several days.

When Harry and Oliver entered the room together, they noticed the exchange of several suspicious glances, but it was soon dissolved in the energy of two dark-haired boys running up to greet their father. “Dad! They said we can see mum later when she wakes up.” Severus told him, jumping up and down.

“An’ they said that the baby’s doing alright, even though she can’t eat anything yet.” James added. Harry smiled and rustled his hair. 

He looked over to Teddy and held out an arm, inviting him in for a hug. “It’s been too long, Teddy. How are you and your Gran?”

“We’re fine. Gran’s off talkin’ to someone downstairs, but she’ll be back in a few minutes. Victoire and I need to go back to school tomorrow, though. We got special permission to come down today on account of Auntie Ginny bein’ in such a bad way and all.” He looked over to Oliver. “Who’s that?”

“Aah, you’ve heard of Oliver Wood, haven’t you?” Harry brought Teddy over to Oliver. “Oliver, this is Teddy, my godson.”

“Tis good ta meet ye,” Oliver said, extending a hand. “I knew yer father well. He was a good man.”

“You’re the same Wood who had eight perfect games in your last season at Puddlemere?” Teddy beamed as he took Oliver’s hand and shook it. “Very good to meet you, sir!” He turned and ran off to Victoire. “Hey, Vic! Did you know that Oliver Wood’s here?”

“My fame precedes me. I’m not sure that’d be a good thing or a bad thing.” Oliver patted Harry on the shoulder and went over to George.

Harry looked down to the doors that would lead him to his daughter’s room. “I’ll go with you,” Molly said, taking him by the arm. “It’s easier if there’s someone else there.” She walked him down past the double doors to the MCU.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, just watching the little girl’s chest move up and down with her breathing. Harry felt Molly’s hand tighten around his elbow. “You know, our Bill came early. Not _this_ early, mind you, but we had a right scare, we did. He stayed in MCU for four days before we could take him home.”

“Yesterday, the Healer said she’ll be here for at least five weeks if she lives that long.” Harry put his hand on the edge of the window. “I only just found out about her, and now, seeing her like this, I’m not sure what to feel.”

Molly nodded. “You feel whatever it is your heart tells you to feel. Of course you’ll be sad. Who wouldn’t be?”

“I feel numb.” Harry told her. “Like she doesn’t actually exist and none of this is really happening.”

“That’s okay too, Harry.” Molly patted his arm and let go. “Did you at least get some sleep last night?”

Harry’s face turned bright red at the thought of the previous night. “A little.”

Molly nodded. “Good. You need your rest over the next few days. Ginny should be awake this afternoon. I’m sure she’ll want to spend some time with you. The rest of us might go home for a while and get some rest, ourselves. Then when we come back, we’ll bring some supper.”

“I think I want to go for a walk,” Harry told her. “There’s nothing I can do here right now.” 

Harry moved away from the window, but felt Molly’s hand on his arm again. “Not today, dear. It’s best if you stay inside today. The boys will need you around when Ginny wakes up. Besides, there’s nowhere for you to really go right now, is there?”

The whole situation felt a little off to Harry. As if he really ought to be somewhere else. “Thanks, Molly, but I’m going to go back now. I haven’t seen Teddy since he started school, and it’ll be nice to spend some time with him.”

Molly ushered him back toward the waiting area. “That’s right, Harry. Spend some time with your family. I’m sure he’s missed you. We all have.” 

When they got back to the common area, Harry let out a long sigh. “Alright,” he said, “out with it. What’s going on in here? Why are all of you looking like that, and why am I not allowed to go out for a walk?” He punched his hands to his hips and scowled at Ron, then George.

“Oi! Have any of you seen today’s paper?” Andromeda asked as she walked into the common room. She was clutching the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

“No, I haven’t,” Harry told her, and held out his hand. 

“Oh, Harry, you’re here.” She looked somewhat surprised. Then looking across the room, she noticed Oliver Wood standing next to Bill looking quite upset. “And Mr Wood?” She threw the paper on the side table and crossed her arms. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you’re telling me it’s all true? Well, true or not, it’s nobody’s business, and I’ll be hexed if I’m going to stand around and let them get away with this!”

Harry walked over and picked up the paper. There, splashed all across the front page, were photographs of him leaning into Oliver after the race and Oliver holding Harry’s hand while he was waiting for word from the Healers, and a full-page article speculating about their relationship.

When Ginny woke, she was feeling better than she had in months. The Healers around her did a few scans, checked her vital signs, and offered her juice and porridge, neither of which she wanted, but both of which she accepted. After eating a few bites and drinking a sip of apple juice, she felt a little better. “Is the baby okay?” She asked one of the Mediwizards. “Let me get the Healer in charge,” he told her, and left the room.

One of the Healers came back into the room, followed by Harry and the boys. “Mum!” Severus cheered. He climbed up onto her bed and looked suspiciously at her porridge. “Gran said she’d go home and make supper for all of us.”

James joined his brother on the bed, but stayed at her feet. “There’s something in the newspaper today about Dad and Uncle Oliver. They won’t let us read it, though.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He leaned down and kissed Ginny on the top of her head. “You look much better today.” He took the seat next to the bed, then picked up the spoon that was in her porridge and started stirring it. 

“The baby’s still hanging on.” The Healer stood at the end of her bed and smiled. “Every day is more good news as far as she’s concerned. I never like rattling off statistics in cases like these because everyone is so different. But your girl shows improvement every hour. She’s passed most of the dangers now, and within the next week or so she should be out of danger entirely if she keeps on the way she has been.”

Ginny was visibly relieved. She pulled Severus in close and held him at her side. “You can have the apple juice, Al - Sev?”

Severus grabbed the juice. “Severus today,” he said proudly. He took a drink then held the cup up to his brother. “Want some?”

James shook his head, smiling. “You know what it looks like?”

Albus giggled. “Kinda.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Off now, both of you!” She scolded. “Get off, you two. Now, go back and tell your gran I want some real food here, not sloppy porridge and juice that looks like wee.”

Harry chuckled. Albus and James doubled over laughing and even the Healer looked like he was going to burst out laughing at any time. “Come on then,” the Healer said, ushering the boys toward the door. “I’ll take you back out there to see your Gran.”

The room was silent when the kids left, but the air was light. “Have you seen her?” Ginny asked. Harry nodded. “And she looks alright?”

“She looks like a fragile little plum. Red and wrinkly, but as I was watching her breathe, I kept thinking that she’s going to be alright.” Harry leaned in with his elbows on the bed.

“Good.” Ginny closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the pillow. “And you and Oliver? What’s this about the newspaper?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, nothing that won’t blow over soon enough.”

Ginny opened one eye. “Harry James Potter! Don’t you dare lie to me. Tell me what happened, and exactly what’s going on with the press, or I’ll have Oliver brought in here and get it straight from him. First question: What happened? Second: What are you going to do about it? And Third: Have you admitted to yourself that you love him yet?”

Oliver sat in the downstairs cafe with George, making swirls and geometric shapes in his cappuccino. They’d been drinking coffee and talking about old times, trying to avoid the giant elephant that felt like it was sitting at the next table. “I’ll be leavin’ to go back soon,” Oliver told him. “The sooner I get out of here, the better it will be for him.”

George nodded, then dropped a sugar cube into his tea. “What happened, anyway? Flint didn’t play fair at the race, and you won, regardless. So, now he’s angry and decides to smear you two across the headlines?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “It all goes back to Frank Bulstrode. You remember him? Two years ahead of ye and in Slytherin.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me, you and Frankie?”

Oliver sighed. “It wasn’t but a thing. This was after I started at Puddlemere. He and I went out for drinks, and y’know he’s not that bad a bloke when ye get to know him. But he’d opened up to me a bit, so I opened up to him and it sort of got out about my particular fancies.”

“He found out you were gay.”

Oliver shrugged.

“Then what, did he try to get you kicked off the team?”

“No,” Oliver sighed. “He wanted me to kiss ‘im. Well, we’d both been heavy on the Firewhiskey that night and ended up behind the pub in the alley. It was just a drunken fling. Well, maybe a bit more on his side, but I never willed him no harm from it all.”

Oliver took a drink of his cappuccino and then pushed it aside. “His sister was waitin’ for him that night, y’see? An’ he lost track of time. So there we were, coupled up as intimate as two blokes can get, and she walks up to find me balls-deep pushin’ him up against the wall in the alley.”

George burst out laughing and nearly fell out of his chair. 

“It’s no’ funny!” Oliver insisted, then started laughing, himself. “A’ight mebbe it’s a little funny, but what happened after that... I knew he wasn’t the bravest man in the world, but to be so spineless, I’d thought better of him.”

“The more I think about it, the more I’m sure she was behind my accident. Frank, in all his spineless wisdom, told her that I’d put something in his drink, and that he’d never consent to sex with a man.” Oliver shrugged and made a nasty face. “She believed it all. Or wanted to believe it. Either way, it’s the same with her. I was buggering her big brother, and she would have her revenge; no matter what the truth was.”

“So, she caused your accident. Then she saw that you were back in town and organized this whole thing to smear you again?” George downed his tea and popped a sugar cube in his mouth. “That makes no sense, mate. Why would she hold a grudge for so long?”

“After my accident that wasn’t an accident, Frank knew what had happened.” Oliver felt his heart in his throat as he told the story again. Each time he restated it, he thought he would become numb to the emotions, but he never did. “He saw me go to hospital, unconscious, and then he wasn’t still around to see me come out of hospital. The official word was that he’d run away. But there was something in my memory from when I was still under treatment. I dreamt that he’d visited me to say his goodbyes.”

“Oh, God. Are you serious?” George took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “And Millicent blames you now, does she?”

“Mebbe. I dun’ blame m’self. There’s nothin’ I coulda done. An’ I dunno that I blame her, either for what she’s done.” Oliver put his elbows up on the table and leaned forward. “But I swear to God, if Harry or the boys are hurt by any o’ this, she’ll wish she’d never been born for seein’ the wrath o’ me.”

George nodded. “So, what are you going to do? I’m sure Harry will be fine. He’s used to this kind of press. And they’ve left the boys out of it for now.” He sighed. “Look, mate, I’m here for you if you need anything, but you’ve got to decide what you want to do.”

“I want to go home. I want Gin’ to be better. I wan’ that baby to be safe, and I wish I could take Harry with me, but I just feel like runnin’ off home again. George,” Oliver looked up with a hurt expression, “he’s gonna stay with her. I know him, an’ I’ve seen this before. An’ no matter what she says and does, he’s gonna stay. At least until she and that little one are out of danger.”

George nodded. “Probably.”

“An’ I’m just afraid that by that time, it’ll be too late again. I had my chance, an’ a strange fate took over. But I could live on last night forever if I had to.” They sat there in silence for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to say. It seemed like an impossible situation for Oliver, no matter what happened over the next few days and weeks.

“Cor, dunno why they haven’t got a pub in hospital,” George grumbled. “I imagine I’m not the only one who could use a pint right about now.”

By the end of the day, most of Ginny’s family and friends had either gone home or were in the room with her. James and Severus were playing gobstones in her room while Charlie and Arthur had each taken a side and were cheering them on. Molly was knitting some incredibly tiny jumpers while chatting with Ginny about plans to make a recovery room for her and the baby in the Burrow.

Harry went back out to the waiting area to find Oliver sitting by himself on one of the sofas. “Hermione and Ron jus’ took the kids home,” He told Harry. “An’ George has gone out for a couple of pints. I think he’s plannin’ to sneak ‘em in here for us.”

“You sound as if something’s wrong, Oliver.” Harry sat next to him. “Ginny seems to be doing well. You should go and see her.”

Oliver shook his head. “She’d jus’ tell me the same thin’ she’s been sayin’ fer years. An’ as much as I’d love t’do what she says, this time it won’t work.” He looked over at Harry and felt a burning pain in his chest. “I’m goin’ home, Harry. An’ yer stayin’ here.”

“Is this about that newspaper article? Because, I don’t care about it. In fact, I’m ready to call the press right out here and give you a good snogging right in front of them.” Harry took Oliver’s hand in his own. It was cold and sweaty. Oliver’s colour didn’t look very good, either. “Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

Harry pulled Oliver close and let the man cry on his shoulder. “I dun’ wanna leave ye. I feel as if this has all been but a dream. But as soon as I step out there, it’ll all become a nightmare again.” He took a deep breath, taking in Harry’s scent and burning it into his memory. Bringing one hand up to Harry’s face, he sat up and kissed him, then pulled back. “Tell Ginny that I’m sending her my best wishes. An’ all of ye are welcome to come out and visit once everyone’s healthy and fit.”

Oliver stood and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Keep in touch, Harry. And if anything happens, just send an owl, and I’ll come running.”

Something inside of Harry froze in disbelief as he watched Oliver head out the door of the ward. He had been prepared to face the press, clarify everything and keep Oliver Wood close to him the whole time, but seeing him leave like this, Harry just felt broken.

The baby was still fighting for her life. Ginny’s liver was still recovering, and Harry knew he couldn’t follow, but as the doors swung closed behind Oliver, Harry felt as if his future was walking away from him, and now he’d be stuck in the past. That same past that was filled with memories he didn’t want to think about. Paths he hadn’t taken and all of his regrets that haunted him in the old musty house.

He took a few steps for the door. “Dad! I won at gobstones!” Severus cheered. “Uncle Charlie says he’s done playing, can you be my partner for this game?”

Harry turned and smiled at his son. “Of course.”

“Where’s Uncle Oliver?” He asked.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. I think he’s going home.”

Oliver had made it all the way to wizarding Dublin when he was blindsided by the first hex. He felt the sting at the back of his ear, then turned and was hit by another lash square on his chest. He fell back against the wall of a cauldron shop and fumbled for his wand. Before he could get a good grip, another hex caught his right hand, knocking it out onto the ground.

A moment later, Oliver was bound against the wall, unable to move.

“You’re a bloody hard man to get, you know that, Wood?” Flint stepped out from behind the entrance of an apothecary shop. Two other men came out from the alley. Oliver could see that there were also men on either end of the street, shying bystanders away from the fight - if you could call it that. “You call in judges to make me look like a fool during the race, you don’t care what the press has to say about you and Potter, you have this nasty habit of not only living, but coming back and flaunting your success. Right arse, you are.”

Oliver didn’t have the emotional strength to deal with him. He looked up at Flint and spat some blood out at his legs. “Seven against one, and yer callin’ me a right arse? Ye’ve already got me to where I canno’ fly n’more, hexed me from the back, then railroaded me with three of ye firing off at once. And now I’m pinned to the wall, sittin’ in the filthy street, and ye call this flauntin’ me success? Ye’ve got a funny way of thinkin’ Flint.”

“Shut up!” Flint slashed another hex at him again, causing a sting to go up his whole left side. Oliver cringed, trying to focus himself and stay conscious. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he actually passed out. “Fucking cocksucker.” He kicked Oliver in the side, causing him to double over, ripping out the sticking charm and tearing his jacket.

With this many people around him, Oliver wasn’t sure he could do anything even if he had his wand. To cope with the pain, he did what he had done years ago after the accident - he closed his eyes and relived the sight of Harry flying. For each boot that landed in his side or stomped his leg, he focussed away from the pain and off into the clouds - watching the silhouette of that boy dive, switch back, then come around the stadium with his arm outstretched. 

He felt a hex come down on his shoulder just as his mind’s eye watched Harry stand on his broomstick, taking one more step forward to reach out and capture the snitch, then fall head over feet on the ground.

Somewhere off in the distance he heard Headmaster Dumbledore shouting, “Oi! What’re ye doin’ here?” A whistle blew signalling the end of the game. “Lad, ye’ a’ight?” Oliver coughed, then vomited, spitting out blood and bile.

“Ní mór an fear cabhrú!” Oliver opened one eye. The other had swelled shut from the hex. They were Aurors. An Auror stood on the other side of the street with one of Flint’s boys in custody, and three more were crowded around him. “Faigh dó chun an t-ospidéal.” _That man needs help! Get him to the hospital._

This was why he had to go alone. This was why he had to make sure Harry stayed safe with his family. If Harry and the boys were ever caught out in the dark with Marcus Flint around, there was no telling what would have happened.

One of the Aurors released the sticking and binding charms, and Oliver fell back into the one man’s arms. “Ná insint Harry,” was all he could say before he lost consciousness. _Don’t tell Harry._

“Cé atá Harry?” The Auror asked. Another one shrugged. _Who’s Harry?_

When Harry went into Ginny’s room, she was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner with one boy on each knee. The boys were telling her all about the race and how well her broomstick performed, especially when he was taking it around the hairpin turns near the end. “And then, he flew around to the straight part and _‘juuuuush!’_ Right to the finish!” James made the motion of a racing broomstick with his hand and nearly fell off of her lap.

“You gotta ride it, mum! It’s so fast you can hardly see someone when they’re flying by.” Severus told her. “Oliver’s brilliant at making brooms!”

Ginny looked up at Harry. “Speaking of Oliver, where is he?”

Harry sat on the end of the bed. “He sends his regards.”

“Is that like sending a present?” Severus asked.

“No, it means he’s gone home.” Harry sighed. He met Ginny’s eyes, willing back his own sadness. “He’s very busy, you know? Got lots of brooms to make. Why, when word gets out about the race, everyone’s going to want a Peregrine broomstick.”

“Can we go and help him again?” James turned to Ginny. “Mum, you’ve got to come out to The Burren. It’s brilliant! The ocean is right there, and there’s all these people who have dances like jigs and hornpipes and reels.”

Severus nodded. “And there’s selkies, too!”

“Selkies aren’t real,” James chided.

“Yeah, they are. Brady said that his mum’s cousin’s friend knew a selkie.”

Harry and Ginny just stared at each other for a few minutes while the boys argued over whether selkies were real or not. When they decided that they were real, but that Harry wasn’t one of them, Ginny finally let out a long sigh. “So, he’s gone home?”

Harry nodded, choking back the tears.

“Oh, Harry.” Ginny held out one arm. “Come here.”

He slid off of the bed and sat on the floor, then rested his head in her lap. James and Severus hardly knew what to say. “Mum, is dad okay?”

“He looks like he’s hurt.”

“Is dad crying?”

Ginny put her hand on top of his head. “He’ll be okay. He’s just sad because he had to say goodbye to Uncle Oliver.”

There was only so much of their own family that Charlie and George could take. Bill was lucky enough to have a wife to run home to as an excuse. And Ron and Hermione were always busy with the kids. So around mid-day, the day after Ginny woke up, the two of them snuck off to the pub for a pint. To make sure nobody they knew would find them shirking their family duty of just waiting at that bloody hospital while their mum and dad went home for a bit of sleep, they cast a couple of quick glamour charms over themselves and sat at the far end of the bar, near the dart board.

“Cor, it’s been a long week. I thought I was gonna lose it there with Mum running around from one ward to the next.” Charlie took a pull on his ale and shook his head. “Poor Gin, though. She’s been through so much.”

George shook his head. “Nah, she’s well aware of what’s goin’ on, and she’s fine with it, I’m tellin’ ya. And I’m not surprised at all that Harry’s... you know...”

“Got Oliver.”

Charlie and George both looked behind them where the voice had come from. There they saw Flint in the far back corner, talking to a young woman with dark black hair and menacing eyes.

“You said you were going to get him at the race, and _that_ didn’t happen.” She scolded.

“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t cocked up his Quidditch accident years ago, he wouldn’t be walkin’ around now, then, would he?”

“Shut up about that!” She scolded. “You are _not_ allowed to mention that ever again!”

Marcus shrugged. “Have it your way. This time he was alone, so we didn’t have to use tricks.” Flint sat down opposite her. George started to make a move, but Charlie put his hand on George’s arm and motioned for him to just sit down and listen.

“So, he’s gone for good?” She asked.

“Well, let’s just say that _if_ he survives with all his parts intact, he might not even be _able_ to come back to England. And if he’s smart and takes my words to heart, he won’t even try.” Flint laughed. He went into great detail about how they’d ambushed Wood, made him drop his wand, pinned him to the wall, and then beat him until he was spitting up blood.

Millicent was laughing the whole time.

“In fact, if them Aurors hadn’t showed up, we might’ve been able to remove that bum leg of his.” Flint added.

Bulstrode nearly fell out of her chair with laughter.

Charlie felt sick to his stomach.

George wanted to use an Unforgiveable on them both.

Instead, however, Charlie wrote a note on a napkin and handed it to the publican. He let his glamour charm drop from his face and the man nodded and went into the back. Charlie reached into his pocket and brought out his newest pet. He turned to his brother and smiled.

George laughed. “Oh, brother mine...”

“Do you know one of the most interesting things about the South American bat-faced dragon?” he asked in an obnoxiously loud voice. “Aside from being incredibly agile and quick as a wink, they’ve got an amazing bite.”

George let the glamour charm drop from his face. “Really? How is it different from other dragons?”

Charlie let his dragon loose and spoke to it in a series of whistles and nods. He turned around in his chair as the dragon zipped over to the table where Flint and Bulstrode had suddenly stopped laughing. “Well, instead of fire or poison breath, they’ve got a front row of teeth that they can shoot out at their prey. First it causes paralysis, making the prey stop in their tracks. Then it causes excruciating pain, as if every part of your body was hit by a stinging hex at once while being doused with icy cold water. Then, as the paralysis wears off, the poison burns its way through the system, slowly dissolving the victim from the inside.”

“What are you playing at?” Flint scolded. When he looked over and saw that it was Charlie Weasley who was in control of the dragon, he stopped dead still. 

“Hello, Flint. Seems like you’re a big fan of inflicting pain these days, and paralysis, as well. How about that?” Charlie stood behind Innsmouth as it hovered back and forth in front of Bulstrode and Flint.

“Is there an antivenin?” George asked, stepping away from the bar into the light.

“Dunno. I’ve never made one mad enough that I’d need one.” He shrugged.

The publican came out from the back room. “The Aurors are on their way,” he called out.

George smiled and rubbed his forehead “Let’s see, they can Apparate directly from the Ministry to the back of the pub, and now...”

Not a moment later, Aurors Malfoy and Bell came into the pub and headed straight back to the corner. “Weasley,” Malfoy looked at Charlie, then turned and nodded at George. “Weasley.” He looked down at his two former housemates sitting at the table. “Well, you two’ve made a right cock up of things. Will you never learn?”

“Oi, tell him to get that thing off of us! It’s a dangerous creature and ought to be put away!” Flint pointed to the small bat-faced dragon.

Charlie held up his hand and whistled. “What, this little guy?” The dragon landed on his arm and he tickled it under its chin. “He’s too young to hurt anything larger than a mouse. See, the dragons don’t get very big. That’s one other unusual feature. The largest prey they can take down would be about the size of your average domestic cat.”

George shook his head. “You two are really stupid, you know that?”

Marcus and Bulstrode both went for their wands, but Bell and Malfoy were far quicker. “Oh, I wouldn’t,” Auror Bell told them. “Unless you are aching for a world of hurt.”

Malfoy turned to Charlie. “Thanks, Charlie. Would you mind coming down to the Ministry to put some of those memories into a pensieve for us?”

“Not at all. As soon as mum and dad get back to the hospital, I’ll come right down there and fill out a full report.” Charlie shook Malfoy’s hand. “We still on for golf on Sunday?”

“Of course!” Malfoy laughed. “Although I’ll warn you, I’ve got new clubs, and my swing’s a lot better than it used to be.”

They decided not to tell Harry right away. The last thing their former brother-in-law needed was another person to worry about on top of the baby and Ginny. Instead, they waited until Molly and Arthur arrived, soon followed by Fleur and Gabrielle, and went to go find Oliver.

In exchange for information about Flint and Bulstrode, the Aurors tracked down the arrest in Dublin, and let Charlie and George know which hospital Oliver had been taken to. “Send him my best,” Katie told them. “We gotta take care of our captain, right?”

They Floo’d directly from the Auror office to Dublin’s North Camden Clinic for Magical Ailments. “It’s not much like a real hospital, is it?” George pondered as they came out of the Floo. The two men dusted themselves off and headed over to where a Mediwizard was speaking with a visitor. “Excuse me, we’re here to see our friend.”

He turned around and smiled. “George?”

“Finnegan!” George grasped Seamus’s hand and laughed. “It’s been a regular reunion, it has. What are you doin’ here?”

Seamus laughed. “I work here.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I reckon I don’t need to ask why you’re here. Come, follow me.”

Seamus led them down a series of corridors and then into a dormitory. “Visitin’ hours are over at eight, and even though he does need the rest, I’ll fudge the rules for ye a bit seein’ as how he’s yer captain and all.”

Oliver was almost entirely covered in magical bandages and compresses. He had healing spells running back and forth along his torso and left leg, and his right arm was wrapped from fingertip to neck.

“I dunno who ye are, but if ye’d close the door, it’d be much appreciated.” Oliver’s voice was low and scratchy.

“It’s me, Oliver,” George told him. “And Charlie. We came to tell you that the Aurors have Flint and Bulstrode.” He went over to the bed and sat down, then Summoned a chair for his brother. “You look like shit.”

“I feel even worse. And here I thought bein’ hit by Bludgers was bad. It’s even worse bein’ hit by a chaser.” Oliver tensed for a moment and opened his good eye wider. “Harry’s not wit’ ye, is he?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, he’s still at the hospital. We, um, figured we ought to see how you were doing before we said anything to him.”

“Dunna say anything. He’s already got two persons in hospital he should be lookin’ after, he doesn’a need a third one.” Oliver relaxed and closed his eye. “So, they got ‘em? Good. I’m gettin’ right tired of bein’ hounded by those two.” Oliver started fidgeting with the corner of his sheets with his one good hand. “So, how’s he doing?”

“You know, Oliver, you’re the only person I’ve ever known who’s just had a brush with death, and the first thing he does is ask how another bloke who’s perfectly safe and warm is doing.” George threw his hands in the air and shook his head. “He’s fine. He’s missing you like crazy, and Gin’s already had a lap full of tears, but otherwise, yeah, he’s just fine.”

“George, hush!” Charlie scolded softly. “Oliver, I understand why you left, but don’t you think, now that Bulstrode and Flint have been put away, you can come back? I’m sure everyone would like to see you.”

Oliver didn’t have an answer for them. The truth was that Ginny and that baby needed Harry more than he did. Sure, he could go back, and he was sure Harry would be happy to see him, as well as Ginny and the boys, and everyone else connected with that family. But that was just the problem. They were all connected, and Oliver would still be outside. He wasn’t a Weasley, and he wasn’t married into them. He wasn’t even officially connected with Harry other than that one night when Harry was vulnerable, his one-sided confession, and the fact that he was Harry’s Quidditch captain back when neither of them had any business thinking naughty thoughts about the other.

“I think it would be best if I went home. ‘Course, I’ll be here for a while yet. They’ve had to grow me a new kidney and repair my lung. An’ I think two of the hexes wouldn’t come off, either, so they’ve got that spell workin’ its way up and down ma’ arm.” 

“That’s a crock of dragon shite and you know it,” Charlie grumbled. “When you get out of hospital, you send an owl to me. I’ll come and get you and bring you back.”

Oliver chuckled under his breath. “I’m not agreeing to that. But I will let ye know when they let me out of here.” He pointed from George to Charlie. “And no tellin’ Harry about this. Captain’s orders!”

George shuffled his feet on the floor and Charlie just stood there shaking his head.

“Fine! When that baby of his gits out o’ the magical care unit, an goes home with her mum, ye can tell him. But until that time, his mind stays focussed on what’s really important.”

Harry couldn’t concentrate on anything. When he was in the MCU staring at his baby breathing, he was thinking about Oliver. When he was trying to play exploding snap with James and Albus, he was trying not to think about Oliver by thinking about the baby. And when he was in Ginny’s room, helping her pack up and get ready for her discharge, he was thinking about what a bad idea it would be for him to go back to that hospital room they’d shared that one night in just so he could re-live it in his mind one more time.

The Healers insisted that they didn’t need a constant vigil for the baby girl, but Harry didn’t want to go back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, either.

“You can stay with me, Harry,” Ginny suggested. “I know it might be a little awkward, but it’s better than you staying in that horrid old house.”

“Thanks Gin,” Harry picked up her slippers and set them on top of her bag. “I think I’ll just stay here for tonight, anyway. It feels strange leaving her alone like this.”

They’d decided not to name her until after she was out of danger. Of course, they’d give her a name even if she didn’t make it, but there was something about the way she looked that made him feel as if she wasn’t ready yet.

So, after Ginny left to go back to Godric’s Hollow with her mum and the boys, Harry went back to the MCU to look in on “Girl Potter.” She’d grown quite a bit in just the few days she’d been in the unit. And the Healers updated her condition from critical, to fragile, and now to stable. Her hands were moving more, kneading the air, and every now and then her legs would twitch and kick.

As he stood there staring at her, he kept thinking about how much he would like to hold her, to tell her that he loved her, and that they were all here wishing for her to get strong. It made him think about Oliver’s confession, and his lack of a response. Harry wished he could hold him, tell him he loved him, and that Harry wished he were here helping him remain strong.

The baby was stable. The Healers were on constant vigil, and Ginny had been right. Harry could go home if he wanted.

He could go home.

There was only one home Harry wanted to go to. He checked out with the Healer in charge and gave her his contact information in Ireland if anything changed. Then he headed out to the main Floo on the ground floor of the hospital. It would be a long trip, but the Black Gryffin pub in Limerick had a sturdy Floo, and he could easily make it that far.

When Harry got to the Black Gryffin, he brushed off the soot and looked around the room for any familiar faces. Brady and his wife were in one corner having their supper, and he saw O’Dowd drinking with Killian’s dad and a couple of his golfing friends.

This place felt more like home. These were the faces Harry needed to see. There was just one face missing. He went up to Brady and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Potter! What’re ye doin’ down here t’night?” Brady asked with a bright smile. “Come sit fer a spell, just sharin’ a lamb shank with the missus. Care to join us?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I’ve already eaten. But have you seen Oliver?”

Brady shook his head. “Nay. ‘Is cottage’s been dark since the night ye left. We’ve been takin’ good care o’ his bird, but he hadn’a been back.”

“Oh,” Harry stood up straight and looked around the pub again. “Well, he left two days ago. I reckoned he’d come straight back here.”

“If he did, he’s sittin’ at home in the dark.” Brady shrugged and turned to translate the conversation to his wife into Gaelic.

Sitting at home in the dark didn’t sound like something Oliver would do. Then again, if he really was as upset as Harry suspected, he might be doing just that. Harry walked quickly toward the door, then around to the back of the pub.

There were only three official Apparation points in Limerick, but nobody seemed to care if anyone departed from behind the pubs. In the blink of an eye, Harry materialized in front of Oliver’s work shed. He ran to the far end, turned the corner, and looked over to the house. There was a light coming out from the front windows!

His heart started pounding as he ran toward the home he and Oliver had shared for so long. “Oliver!” he called as he came in through the front door. “Oliver, I’m home! I hope you don’t mind me staying here tonight. I just...” There was no response. In fact, the house was completely silent. There was nobody in the living room. He could tell that from a glance. Harry checked the bedrooms - first his own, then Oliver’s, and finally the boys’ room and their play room. Nobody.

Harry went back into Oliver’s room and sat on the bed. It was cold. Nobody had been here since they left. Next to Oliver’s bed was a small table with a picture frame. In the frame was a photograph of Oliver and himself dressed in their Quidditch uniforms, posing after they’d won the house cup third year. In the photograph, Oliver leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then patted him on the shoulder. Harry had idolized his captain, but looking at him now, he could see the love Oliver felt for him back then.

He set down the photograph and covered his eyes with one hand. “Harry, you’re an idiot.” Harry lay down on the bed and kicked off his shoes. The pillow smelled like Oliver. He pulled the quilt over him. That smelled like Oliver, too. Between the quiet of the house, the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore, his lack of a restful night since he’d left The Burren, and the comfort of being embraced by the scent of the man he loved, Harry fell asleep.

His dreams were littered with Quidditch matches that would always end with him falling and Oliver catching him. He also dreamed of dark mists coming after them, capturing Oliver, and Harry running away, only to find himself in prison. And somewhere in all of these dreams, he also found comfort in reliving the night Oliver had made love to him. 

_That’s me, Harry. I’m all inside of ye._ Oliver’s voice echoed in his head. _I love you._

Harry woke with a start. He heard someone open and then close the door. “Oliver!” he called out. He scrambled out of bed, toed into Oliver’s slippers, and hurried into the living room. “Oliver?”

“Oh! Hullo, Harry.” Seamus smiled. “What’re yer doin’ here?” Seamus looked Harry over with his messy hair, the slippers that were at least two sizes too large for him, and dishevelled clothes that had obviously been slept in.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I was jus’ gettin’ a couple o’ things fer Oliver Wood. Ye remember ‘im.” Seamus stopped for a moment and remembered their situation. “Aah, I guess ye would since he was yer captain and all. Anyhow, he asked me to get a couple more things for ‘im. Worried ‘bout his bird among other things. Erm, needed some stuff from his room, too. Somethin’ ‘bout a photograph near his bed.”

The fog of sleep was finally lifting from Harry’s mind, and he finally realized the other thing that had been bothering him about Seamus being in their living room. Those blue robes he was wearing were Mediwizard robes.

“Where is he?” Harry asked, his voice cracking.

“Oh, he’s up in Dublin, at North Camden.” Seamus stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Wouldja mind helpin’ me find what he wants? I’m not really very good at going through other people’s houses.”

Harry went back into the bedroom and picked up the photograph. North Camden was a clinic for intensive magical ailments. They specialized in removing difficult hexes and repairing spell damage. Not the best place to go for a simple broken leg, but after the wars, they were renowned for helping Cruciatus patients in their recoveries.

“What happened to him?” Harry asked, trying his best to mask the concern in his voice.

“I dunno exactly, but he was attacked by a pack of dark wizards from the look of ‘im. Face half-swollen, covered in hexes that won’t go away, broken bones and damaged insides.” Seamus shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Poor chap. Charlie an’ George have come to visit him a couple o’ times, but that’s about it.”

Harry picked up Oliver’s bathrobe, slippers, and spare toothbrush and stuffed them into a bag with the photograph on top. He put on his own shoes and tried to make sense of his hair, licking it and sticking it back. “Mind if I come with you?” he asked as he went back into the living room.

“Not at all! Like I said, I’m pants at ransacking people’s houses. Much better if ye were the one to give him his things.” Seamus led Harry out the door, then pulled a Bodhran tipper out of his pocket. “Ready?” he asked, shaking it in the air. “Portkey.”

Outside, Harry held out his arm and whistled, then called out “Harry!” Oliver’s falcon flew down and perched on his elbow. “Now we’re ready.”

Seamus looked a little puzzled and shook his head. “Don’t you find that obsession of his a little creepy?” He asked.

“As much as you’d think it creepy if you found out Parvati had an obsession for you.”

Seamus processed his answer and nodded. “Right, point taken.”

North Camden was a beautiful old Hospital built on the ruins of an ancient abbey. The foundation thrummed with magic, and the walls were suspended by rafters made of thousands of hurling sticks. Along the walls, great tapestries floated just above the huge arched doors. Harry’s jaw dropped as he saw them move from one side to the other, following the Healers around the wards.

“Wait, so, you know who’s in which ward by where their tapestry’s flying? That’s brilliant!” Harry smiled as he watched one of them fly from one side of the hall to the back corridor.

“And now he’s gone for the day, so ‘is tapestry will curl up and hang in the rafters ’til tomorrow.” Seamus looked over at Harry. “It’s pretty impressive down here, but up in the wards, it’s not quite so nice.”

They went up a flight of stairs and then down a long, white corridor lined with green tile on one side and dingy yellowed wallpaper on the other. “You’re right. This place looks like a Muggle clinic from the dark ages,” Harry whispered as they walked on. “Why is this side so plain and dirty when the front hall is so elegant?”

“Magical interference.” Seamus turned a corner and signed in at a Mediwizard station. “It’s all because of the hexes an’ curses. They don’t always behave so well with other magic ‘round. And it’s hard to diagnose sometimes with so much other magical interference.” He motioned for Harry to follow him down one more corridor. “When you get in to see him, you’ll probably understand.”

Seamus stopped in front of the third door down on the right. With a smile and a nod, he opened the door. “I’m breakin’ the rules for ye, lettin’ ye have that bird, but I don’ think he’d do too well in the owlery here.”

Oliver was sleeping when Harry walked into the room. The swelling had gone down in his face, and his arm was free of hexes, but he still had spells running up and down his torso, and one leg was still completely wrapped. Harry set the falcon at the window and hung Oliver’s robe up on a hook by the door. Then he took the photograph out of the bag and put it on the small table by the bed. Harry went around to the other side of the bed and sat in the empty chair.

Taking Oliver’s hand, he brought it up to his mouth and placed a kiss on his knuckles. There was a sharp jolt from the aftermath of a stinging hex, causing Harry to jerk back, startling Oliver awake. “I dunno why yer holdin’ my hand, Seamus, but I’ll let it go this time fer bringin’ me my things.” Oliver turned his head to look at the photo. Harry could see his reflection in the glass as he smiled at himself as a young man kissing a younger Harry Potter.

Harry put his other hand over Oliver’s hand and leaned his head down on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. That he was sorry he wasn’t there for him. That he wished he could do something? That he hoped Oliver was feeling better? 

“I love you.”

Oliver froze at the sound of Harry’s voice. He turned his head to look at the man by his side. “Yer not s’posed to be here.”

“Where am I supposed to be? At the other hospital watching a baby breathe from thirty feet away? Or at my ex-wife’s home sleeping on the sofa wondering why I can’t be with the man I love when she’s told me so many times that I _should_ go to him?”

“No, I just didn’a want to be the reason ye left yer family.” Oliver leaned his head over against Harry’s. “Did you say that ye loved me?” He asked smiling.

“I did.” Harry tilted his head up and kissed Oliver on his cheek. 

“A’ight. Tha’s what I thought.” He chuckled to himself. “So, if they let me outta here b’fore Christmas, would ye want to help me out to the party at the cottage?”

“Only if the Healers say it’s alright for you to be out and about dancing on that leg.” Harry moved his hand to Oliver’s leg. He could feel the magic still working to repair his bone and tissue. “They’re really good here, aren’t they?”

Oliver shrugged. “The place could stand a lick o’ paint, but some o’ the ways they use this old magic is better than anything I’ve seen at St Mungo’s. I wish they’d brought me here after gettin’ hit by the bludger.”

“So,” Harry asked, “how badly hurt are you?” He ran his hand up Oliver’s leg.

“Bad enough that I can’t do what ye want me ta do. But not so bad that I couldn’t do with a kiss from my love.”

Harry stood up and sat on the edge of the bed. He gently brushed back Oliver’s hair and tucked it behind his ear. “Don’t keep me away again, alright?” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Oliver’s lips. “From this point on, I am your family. And so are Albus and James, and so will be Girl Potter when she’s better. You can’t push us away, and you’re not allowed to go off on your own again. Understand?”

Oliver smiled. “I understand. Now that little kiss wasn’t enough.” The next kiss was certainly enough. He opened his mouth for Harry and was rewarded with a long passionate embrace. Harry tasted his lips, nipped at them, sucked and finally explored Oliver’s mouth with his tongue.

“Oi, Ollie, Harry wasn’t at the hospital this morning; I think he might be onto you...” George stopped short as he turned into the room.

Charlie looked in over his shoulder. “Or on top of you, as the case may be.”

“One more step up, love.” Harry held Oliver’s arm as he made his way up to the porch. “Right, it’s a good thing we didn’t add a second floor for the bedrooms. I dunno if you could make it up a full flight of stairs.”

“Not now, anyway. Give me a few more weeks, and... Ach!” Oliver was still in a leg cast from just above his knee down to his toes, and he seemed to catch it on just about everything. “Tell me, whatever possessed ye to put that bump in the carpet?”

Harry made a face at Oliver, then Summoned a chair. “Sit!” He transfigured it into a wheelchair so Oliver could at least get around comfortably inside the house. “I’m going to put your things away. You just stay there and don’t get up.”

They had three more days until Christmas, and nothing in the house had been decorated yet. Ginny was going to bring the boys by and spend Christmas Eve with them before they all headed back to the hospital to spend Christmas Day with Girl Potter.

While Harry was in _his_ room, Oliver went over to Harry’s room and pushed open the door. The bed hadn’t been slept in, and none of Harry’s things were on the dresser. “So, ye’ve been sleepin’ in my bed, Harry?” He brought out his wand and started changing colours in the room to the warm golds and reds that Ginny liked. “Fine, then. This inn’t yer room no more.” As soon as he spoke, the door that connected the two rooms disappeared.

“Hey, Oliver!” Harry ran in from the other room. “Oh, it’s gone on this side, too is it?” He looked around. “You’ve changed the colours. Hmmm. Ginny would love this room.”

“Why d’ya think I did it?” Oliver pushed himself out of the chair and hobbled over to the door. “Come on now, m’leg may be broken, but the rest of me works jus’ fine. I dunno if ye were plannin’ to play games all night or wait up for Father Christmas, but I had somethin’ else in mind.” He went inside the room and fell onto his bed. “Ye gonna join me or not?”

“Oh, tough choice.” Harry smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Oliver pushed himself further back on the bed and pulled off his t-shirt. “I’ll tell ye right now, I’m gonna be on me back the whole time. So, ye might have to help yerself as it were.” Oliver ripped out the seams of his trousers to get them over his bandages.

“Help myself you say?” Harry threw his shirt on the floor and crawled into bed on top of his lover. “Don’t mind if I do,” he purred.

“What is it?” Harry asked. Oliver had been sitting on the front porch with the letter in his hand for a good quarter of an hour. It was a nice night, and at first Harry thought nothing of it, but as the weather changed and a cold misty rain came off of the ocean, Harry became concerned.

“Hmmm?” Oliver looked up. For a moment, he seemed lost, but then gathered his thoughts. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

A cold wind picked up. Harry cast a Warming Charm over them and leaned against the railing. “I saw an owl come in and deliver the letter. You’ve been sitting out here ever since.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Anything you can share?”

Oliver smiled and sighed. “I suppose.” He handed the letter over to Harry. It was from Puddlemere United, offering him a position as their flying coach beginning in the spring. They had apparently heard of his success at the race against Flint, and they’d been looking for someone to replace Brandon Lewis as the flying coach, anyway.

Apparently, nobody had told them that Oliver didn’t do the flying. And that he wasn’t there as Harry’s coach, but merely as the inventor of the broomstick.

But still, this was a genuine offer, and a chance for Oliver to get back into the game he loved so much. Harry was sure that the whole broom business, although something he loved, was just another way for Oliver to feel connected to his game.

“This is... it’s fantastic!” Harry beamed as he read through the letter. They wanted Oliver to let them know as soon as possible, and even mentioned that he would be given full control over the program. “And I’ll wager they’ll be using Peregrines, too.”

Oliver shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

Harry sighed. What could he say? He knew that Oliver couldn’t fly. And now, with his leg still healing, he couldn’t even try. “Would you want to try some basic...”

“I can’t do it.” Oliver was visibly upset. “God! What I wouldn’t give to have that job. If I could send a positive reply, I’d send one off tonight. But I haven’t flown in years. I dunno if I can even kick off the ground.” He stood and moved over next to Harry, leaning against the railing. “They need a reply by the end of the year.”

“Then wait until the end of the year.” Harry nudged Oliver with his shoulder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that things can change very quickly. You’ve got a month to decide. Maybe after your recovery, you will be able to fly again.”

Oliver nodded. He was still doubtful, though. The reason he couldn’t fly had nothing to do with his injuries. It was all psychological. Since the accident, every time he’d tried to get on a broomstick and kick off of the ground, his mind would race back to his free-fall, reliving every terrifying detail. It would start, of course, with the sudden stop on his broom, and the crunching of his bones between the two Bludgers. 

But the worst was the landing. There was no way of explaining to anyone what it felt like to fall upon a pile of rubble, bones crunching, cartilage breaking, muscle tearing, and being saved only by a very last-minute cushioning charm that only just managed to save his life. At the time, he inwardly cursed the person who cast that charm; he had been in so much pain.

The last thing he ever wanted to re-live was that horrible fall. Part of him wanted to Obliviate that memory, making sure it never resurfaced. But something inside of him hung on to it. Some familiar feeling about the magic that buffered his fall. He couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, but it was comforting enough to make him keep the memory.

Harry wrapped one arm around Oliver’s waist. “Let’s go inside. It’s going to start raining again soon, and I’ve got soup on the stove. We can talk about this later.”

Christmas Eve was a flurry of activity. They would wait for the boys to arrive before setting up and decorating the tree, but throughout the entire day, Harry and Oliver decorated the house. They strung garland of evergreen and holly all along the front of the porch, Harry had also set up twinkling charms on all of the holly berries to create bright and cheerful flashing lights. Oliver wrapped up piles of branches and broomstick handles into a giant cone, then stood it up on end to create a makeshift Christmas tree out in front of the house.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Harry told him, refreshing the Warming Charm where they were working. It was unseasonably cold, and they already had their first dusting of snow on the ground. “Do you reckon it will stay up in the wind, though?”

Oliver cast a sticking charm, fastening it to the ground. “Either it’ll stay, or it’ll get blown away. As long as it lasts through the night and until the boys get here, I’ll be happy.” He hobbled back to the porch and sat on the bottom step, looking out at his broomstick tree, the expanse of The Burren, and beyond that, the ocean. “I don’ think I could ever live anywhere else.” Harry came over and sat next to him. “I miss Scotland sometimes, to be sure. But this place is where I belong.”

Harry wrapped his hand around Oliver’s. “I’d never had a real home until I went to Hogwarts. And when that was damaged, I thought I’d never find a place again. But here?” Harry nodded. “Maybe I am a selkie.”

Oliver nudged Harry. “Don’t you dare! I’m not losin’ ye to the ocean.” 

Harry brought his arm around Oliver and leaned on his shoulder. “I told the boys I’m not going into the ocean. It’s bloody cold down there, and I’ve never been a good swimmer without the aid of gillyweed. It’s sad, but I’m a better dancer than I am a swimmer.”

“Now that you mention it, I jes’ wanted ye to know, I don’t think I’ll be dancin’ tomorrow night. Think ye can manage without me?” 

Harry looked down at Oliver’s bandaged leg. “I don’t know. Do you think it’s safe for me to leave you sitting there with all those lassies fawning over you and your broken foot?”

Oliver pushed his hair out of his face. “Bloody Hell! I hadn’t thought o’ that. Is it too late to tell ‘em we’re not going?”

“Only if you’re willing to tell James and Albus that they won’t be showing their mum the difference between a jig and a reel.”

Albus and James led Ginny up to the cottage on The Burren, telling her all about what it was like in the autumn when the grass was turning colour and the flowers down on the rock were in bloom. When they rounded the corner and saw the giant tree made of broomstick materials, Albus squealed and ran straight for it. “Look! It’s made of cherry and pecan and oak and...”

Ginny was smiling as she went up to the tree. “And holly.”

“Look over here, Albus,” James shouted, pointing to the front of the porch. “The holly berries are twinkling!”

James went up on the porch, then into the house. “Dad!” He called out. “We’re here!”

Harry came out of the kitchen with a tray of tea and hot cocoa. “I thought it might be you.” He set the tray on the table by the window, then went to greet Ginny and Albus as they came inside. Harry leaned over and kissed Ginny on her cheek, then pointed Albus in the direction of the cocoa. “Oliver’s up at O’Dowd’s cottage getting his bandages changed.”

“He’s doing alright then?” Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. “He’s doing just fine. In fact, the only reason it’s taking him this long to recover is that there were multiple hexes cast at the same time in the same areas, and it was difficult for the Healers to sort them all out. Once they unravelled all the dark magic, it was just a matter of giving him a few potions and waiting a couple of weeks.”

“But you’re doing alright, are you? Eating well? You’re taking care of yourself?” Ginny asked. She was sounding more and more like her mother every year. 

“I’m fine, Gin,” Harry told her, giving her a hug.

Everyone settled into their tea or hot cocoa, then the boys gave Ginny a full tour of the house, starting with their play room. When they got to their father’s room, James was a little taken aback, but Albus took everything in stride. “Oh, look! He’s changed it to your favourite colours, Mum!”

Ginny chuckled. “I suppose if he’s not going to be using it, he might as well make it a guest room. And my favourite colours, nice touch.”

“The workshop’s brilliant, too. But it’s too cold to go out there now,” Albus told her, pointing at the out-building across the way. “Oh, look! It’s Oliver!”

He was still limping and using a cane, but this time when he came back from Mrs O’Dowd, he was not wearing heavy bandages. She was the resident medic on The Burren, having been a midwife for years, and partially trained by a Healer at one point or another, so she could do basic scans and knew something of potions, salves, and medicinal compresses. And _this_ time when she examined him, the bones had all but healed. The muscles were still bruised and a little scarred, but the bones themselves were fine.

Harry raised his eyebrows as Oliver approached. “You’re walking!”

Oliver chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I was walkin’ before. Mebbe ye didn’t notice due to the size of them bandages on me leg, but I was walkin’.”

“I mean, you’re walking without bandages or a crutch.” Harry went over to him and smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Does this mean you can dance?”

“No dancin’. Mrs O’Dowd made me promise her tha’.” He nodded over to where Albus was waving. “I see Ginny and the kids are here. Did ye take them inside yet?”

Harry took Oliver’s arm and walked with him up to the house. “Oh, I didn’t have to. As soon as the boys got here, they went exploring; followed by giving their mum a grand tour of the place.”

They were still several meters away from Ginny, Albus, and James. Oliver stopped for a moment, staring at the scene. “I feel like I’m takin’ ye away from them.” He told Harry. “Like I’m bein’ selfish, and you could have...”

“I have what I want.” Harry assured him. “And this isn’t a matter of choosing one thing over another. Ginny and the boys are still there for me. Ginny as my friend and the boys as my children; that won’t change no matter whose bed I sleep in.” Harry urged Oliver forward with his arm. “Let’s go. We’ve still got to decorate the tree and make supper.”

They walked together up to the house and went inside. Oliver still had an awkward feeling about his position in this family, but for Christmas, he was ready to let everything go and just see how it went. And from his conversations with Ginny, she really seemed to be genuine about stepping down and letting Oliver have his chance.

Even today, she welcomed him warmly. “Hello, Oliver. I’m so glad you’re better. When we heard about what happened to you, every one of us was ready to go down and hex the.... well, we were ready to go give Flint what for.” 

“I heard your brothers were brilliant.” They made their way up the steps of the porch, and then into the living room.

Ginny shrugged. “You’re our captain. We stick together as a team - always.”

“Oh, I wish mum and dad could see this,” Ginny gasped, looking up at the cottage.

The Holiday dance started much earlier in the day than the Hallowe’en celebration. In fact, from what Mrs Brady was saying, the music had started when Marie and Heather Kerr finished breakfast, and would keep going until Clan Tierney passed out, usually somewhere around 4am on Boxing Day. The house was completely changed for the celebration. They added another storey, expanded off the back for a good ten meters, and lifted the stage so that it was more of a proper stage, and not just a bunch of floor-boards set up on cinderblocks. 

The cottage had also been given a new coat of whitewash, and was trimmed top to bottom with evergreen and red garland. Bows and bells clustered around where the ends of each piece of garland met, giving off cheerful jingles whenever the breeze came through the room. Heating charms kept the place warm, while the wood stove in the corner gave the revellers a place to really warm up in case they’d been out in the cold for too long. 

The second floor was, again, used for refreshments, but this time, an entire Christmas dinner was laid out. With goose, roast turnips and potatoes, and every kind of pudding imaginable. At the end of the dinner table, there were grand punch bowls with punch, hot cocoa, tea, and Butterbeer. “The whiskey comes from Donovan’s pocket,” Harry whispered to Ginny. 

The third floor had been set up as a playroom for the kids, and a place for people to spend the night if they were either too drunk or too exhausted to make it home. One of the ghosts of The Burren, an old Nanny who lost her children in a storm, and then lost her life down a crevasse, was hard at work tucking in all the sheets, resetting the building blocks, and making sure the children were playing nicely with each other.

“Do you think it would be okay if I invited them to the one next year?”

Oliver stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was without a cane today, feeling much better, although still weak and limping a little. “If there was ever a place where the phrase ‘The more the merrier’ was fittin’, it’d be here.”

James and Albus soon found their friends and ran off to play on the third floor. “Here, I’ll introduce you to some of our neighbours.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Ginny asked. “Hello, this is Ginny, my boyfriend’s ex-wife?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, just give them the whole story.” He kissed Oliver on the cheek and winked. “They love long, elaborate love stories. The more twists and turns in the story, the better.” Harry patted Ginny on the back and then headed off toward the kids.

As Oliver and Ginny were making their rounds, introducing the mother of the selkie boys to everyone on The Burren, another band began to play, starting off with a jolly reel on the concertina, bodhran, and fiddle. Half-way through, someone came up with a low whistle, and another with a guitar. Soon, there were a dozen musicians on stage, and the expanded dance floor was packed with people of all ages and skill levels. 

James ran down to dance with his mother, teaching her what he knew about dancing a jig. Albus was too busy playing with two other boys to dance this round, so Harry went back to Oliver to keep him company. “They look like they’re having fun.” Harry sat next to Oliver on the bench against the wall.

Oliver took his hand and interlaced their fingers. “If ye want to go and dance, ye can. I’m fine sittin’ here, watching the others.”

“Don’t give me that. If Mrs O’Dowd wasn’t standing right there by the punch bowl, you’d be on the dance floor, broken leg or no.” Harry nudged him.

“And if she goes and says hello to Mr Tierney two more times, I might still make it out there tonight. I’ve heard he brought three litres of Firewhiskey.” Oliver smiled at Harry. “I’m glad yer here with me. Back in November, I thought ye might be stayin’ with the baby in London.”

“And I thought you’d be staying with me there, too. But I guess fate has its own plan.”

After two dances, Ginny came back, out of breath. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Do they do the same thing for New Year’s Day?” She asked.

Oliver smiled. “If there’s an excuse, this cottage is dancing.”

Ginny laughed, then shifted her attention to Harry. “I know the party’s just starting, but I think I should go. I want to get back to St Mungo’s before the Floo network closes for Father Christmas. I told James already, and he’s off to tell Albus. You’re both coming tomorrow, right? For Christmas with the family?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Harry started to rise, but Ginny motioned for him to sit. 

“Stay. It’s alright. Mrs Brady showed me the Floo in the back kitchen. I’ll just go from there.” She smiled at the two of them. “You two are so cute together. I think Mrs O’Dowd is about to go for a little sleep. You should dance while you can.” With a wink, Ginny spun around and headed out toward the back.

“Hmm. Cute together. Do you suppose she approves?” Harry pondered, shaking his head.

“Well, to be perfectly fair, Harry, she an’ I used to have long conversations wonderin’ if ye’d ever figure out that either one of us was carryin’ a flame for ye. An’ then after that, we were tryin’ to decide which one of us ye’d choose.” Oliver shrugged.

Harry was taken aback. “Wait, so you and Gin used to talk about me? When? You were only around for a few years while I was in school. And I was... Really? I was so young, though!”

“Hey, it was a boyhood crush at first. How was I supposed ta know that it would turn into something like this? When I’d heard yer name was brought up in the Triwizard Tournament, I nearly flew out to you and took ye away from Hogwarts. Jes’ the thought of anything happenin’ to ye was enough to send me into a full panic.” Oliver turned to look at Harry. He opened his mouth again, intending to tell him about what he thought of Dumbledore’s Army and Dolores Umbridge, but found himself too busy being kissed to go on.

The dance went on around them as if nothing was happening. People were too busy celebrating, dancing, eating, laughing, and talking to notice two young men sitting against the wall, snogging. When Harry finally ended the kiss and sat back, Oliver felt a warmth wash over him. “So, that’s my side of the story. I wonder how ye might have ever become interested in yer team captain.”

“Maybe I should tell you about that later.” Harry smiled and leaned back against the wall, squeezing Oliver’s hand. “It’s a little more complicated than your story, and far more embarrassing.”

“Oh, well, if ye don’t want to tell me, that’s alright, too.”

“No, it isn’t embarrassing like that. I just think I’d better wait until we get home to tell you, in case the recollection of it may cause me to be a little over-stimulated.” Harry smiled and turned his attention to the band.

“Then I _definitely_ want to hear about it,” Oliver said softly to himself.

Just before midnight, Oliver and Harry found themselves carrying two sleeping boys home across The Burren. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground from earlier in the day, and the bits of grass and plants that dotted the rock crunched under their feet. Up in the cloudless sky, the half -moon shone brightly along their path, and the bright lights from the Brady and O’Dowd cottages were enough to light their way home.

All four men had eaten, played, and danced enough to last them to the end of the year. Oliver only danced in two of the lower jigs and waltzes. Mrs O’Dowd had held on until just half an hour before they had to leave. But he promised Harry that come New Year’s, they wouldn’t stop dancing all night.

When they got home, they tucked the boys into bed and headed into the living room to put a meat pie and a glass of sherry out for Father Christmas. “I haven’a done this in years,” Oliver told Harry as he set out the sherry glass. “I remember one year waitin’ up for him, only to find he’d cast a sleeping spell on all the children to make sure they didn’a catch him at his business.”

“When I was a boy, Father Christmas didn’t know about me.” Harry shrugged. “Apparently the wards protecting me went so far as to prevent him from knowing where I was.”

“Ye mean, ye never got anything in yer stocking?”

Harry shook his head. “But it’s okay. I think it made it all the more special when I started getting presents at Hogwarts.”

“Every child needs a present from Father Christmas at least once in his life,” Oliver told him. He looked up at the chimney. “Y’hear that?” he called out. “Harry’s never had a stocking full from ye!”

Harry hit Oliver on the back of his shoulder. “You’ll wake the boys,” he chided. “I don’t need anything, anyway. And we should probably get things cleaned up in here so we can be in bed when he gets here. You know how his magic works. I don’t want to wake up on the floor or hanging over the sofa.”

“As much as I’d like to see ye hanging over the sofa, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate for Christmas Eve with two young ‘uns who’ll be up at any noise and running in here to see if it’s Father Christmas with their stockings.” Oliver winked at him and brought the tray of empty cocoa mugs into the kitchen.

Harry laughed. He put out the lights on the tree and went to secure the windows. As he made his way to the front door, there was a rapping sound. He looked out and saw Pigwidgeon frantically clawing at the window next to him. “Pig?”

He opened the door and brought in the owl, taking the small scroll from his foot as he closed the door. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. Here,” He set Pig down next to the meat pie and the owl began pecking at it. Harry was too concerned with the scroll to shoo the bird away from Father Christmas’s treat. The note was written in nearly illegible scrawling.

 

_Harry,_

_Come at once. There’s been a drastic change in her condition._  
Don’t have time to write. Gin’s called everyone in.  
Bring the boys. 

_~Ron_

Harry was sure his heart stopped. Usually, Ron was so good about giving more information, especially when he used a dictation pen. Obviously, he didn’t have the time to use one when he wrote this. He swallowed hard, picked up Pig and took him to the door. “Go on. Go back. I’ll send a note with Harry.”

He wrote a quick note saying he was on his way as soon as he woke the boys, gave it to Oliver’s falcon, and sent him on his way, as well.

When Oliver came in, Harry was frantically getting things together. “We have to go,” he told Oliver. “Get your coat, I’ll wake up the boys.”

“What? What’s going on?” Oliver asked. Harry handed him the note. As soon as he processed the contents, Oliver got his own cloak and put it on. Harry came out of the boys’ room with Albus sleeping on his shoulder and James walking slowly in his pyjamas while hanging onto his stuffed griffon. Harry helped them on with their coats and went over to the fireplace.

“Wait!” Oliver stopped Harry as he reached for the Floo powder. “It’s closed. Floos are all closed for Father Christmas until... well, at least six.”

Harry looked shocked and lost. “Dad, where are we going?” James asked. “Did Father Christmas come already?”

Oliver knew deep inside that there was only one way they could get to the hospital in decent time. It was too far for them to Apparate, and with the Floo network down, they had to fly. _He_ had to fly. There was no way Harry could take both boys on one of the broomsticks they had here. All of the Peregrines were racing brooms, and therefore much shorter than standard size transport. “We have to fly.” Oliver nearly choked on his words. His leg still hadn’t completely healed, and he hadn’t flown since his Quidditch accident.

“Can you?” Harry asked. “Look, I can go first and come back for...”

“No, ye can’t. If it’s serious, ye need to stay there. All of you need to stay.” Oliver took a deep breath and shrugged. “You take Albus with ye. He’s still asleep, an’ it’ll be best for me to fly with someone who can...” Oliver rolled his eyes. “James, ye have strong magic in ya. If I falter up there on the broom, ye kin fly, can’t ye?”

James smiled and gave Oliver a ‘thumbs up.’ “I can fly by myself, but maybe not that far.”

“You can’t fly by yourself,” Harry insisted. 

They all headed out to the workshop. Oliver had made Harry a broom as his Christmas present, and it was sitting in the corner with a big gold ribbon around the handle. “I guess it’s technically Christmas already,” he told Harry, “seein’ as how it’s already past midnight’.”

Oliver gave the broom to Harry, then went over to the wall where a dozen brooms were lined up on holders. He moved along the row, holding his hand over each broom, feeling the magic vibrate in them. When he finally came to one, the broom jumped right into his hand as soon as he came near. “Right, little fella. Yer gonna make me fly again.”

It felt so good holding a broom with intention. For so many years, he’d only held the brooms he’d constructed. They were just bundles of wood and branches with no heart, no purpose - at least no purpose for him. Those brooms had no personality for him. They were intended for someone else, and they all knew it.

This one, however, had chosen him. Almost like a wand, it intertwined its own magic with Oliver’s. His mind flashed back to his first flying lesson when he was eleven. He had taken to the skies like a bird, as if he was meant to be soaring in and among the clouds. He remembered kicking off of the ground, flying circles in the air, then landing solidly.

Hovering drills.

Quidditch maneuvers. 

“Oliver?” Harry interrupted his thoughts. “I’m sorry. We have to go.”

Oliver nodded. He took James’s hand and led the boy outside. “Right.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Harry asked. He settled Albus in front of him on the broomstick and hovered over the ground.

“I don’t know. I think so.” 

Oliver sat on the broom, and James climbed in front of him and held on. “I’m okay!” James told him, smiling back at Oliver. “And you’re a great flier. You’re the captain, right?”

He was the captain. “Right. Captain.”

Oliver took one more deep breath and kicked off of the ground. He had a wobbly start, but soon settled the broomstick and hovered solidly about six feet off the ground. Just that little step gave him confidence enough to go on. He had to do this. “Let’s go.”

He sped off straight to the east, across The Burren.

Harry smiled and quickly followed him.

It was a beautiful, clear night filled with stars. The owls were out hunting, even though the prey wasn’t plentiful. For only a moment, he could hear the music coming from the cottage, but as he sped past, it immediately faded. 

The broomstick was quick - very quick. He’d never flown anything quite as fast as it. In fact, he was a little surprised when the broom jumped into his hand. After all, he hadn’t flown in ages, and his own intention could certainly be questioned when it came to flying. Until he actually mounted the broom, he wasn’t even sure that he had enough will to make it work.

But as he flew across Ireland, he wondered how he’d lived so long without it. The Burren was gorgeous. His home was far more amazing from the air than he’d expected. The moonlight made parts of the rock glow, and highlighted the crevasses and ridges that ran across it like a spider web. It was a lunar landscape from the air, with barren rock and then patches of flora that looked grey and added texture in the night. 

In a matter of a minute, they passed the edge of The Burren. And it was not even five minutes before they turned slightly to the north and found themselves approaching Dublin.

“You’re so fast!” James cheered. “I think you’re as good a flyer as my dad.”

“Yer da’ is the most amazing flyer I’ve ever seen, so I’ll take that as the highest compliment a man kin get.” Oliver smiled and leaned down closer to James, protecting him from the cold of the night. “We should get there in another ten minutes. Are ye cold?” He asked.

James shook his head. “My coat has a Warming Charm in it.”

“Aah, good. ‘Cause we’re headin’ fer the sea an’ it’ll get icy cold.”

James nodded and brought his shoulders up. “I’m okay.”

It was a quick flight from Dublin to Holyhead, and then off to London. There was a stillness in the air that Oliver had never experienced before. It was early Christmas morning, and nothing was flying through London. Even the Muggle machines seemed to have taken the wee hours of the morning off from their usual, noisy travels. It gave him a chance to experience London from the sky again. He’d never considered this city his home, but he did miss it on occasions like this. He banked around the Thames, and then headed down to the area where St Mungo’s was located.

When they arrived on the lawn, Harry and Albus were already standing there, waiting for them. “Let’s go!” Oliver shouted as he helped James off the broomstick. Harry just stood there for a moment, stunned and impressed just as he was when he first saw his captain land and dismount from his broomstick so many years ago. Oliver was just as confident as he had been back then. It was as if he’d never stopped flying. 

When James took his hand, he snapped out of his trance and nodded to Oliver. They made their way inside, then up to the MCU. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see when he arrived, but it wasn’t what he’d walked into. Most of the Weasley family was standing around, chatting, drinking cocoa, and laughing - in their pyjamas. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were not there with the rest of them, but this wasn’t a family in mourning, to be sure.

“Harry!” Ron called. “Go on, get in there!” He motioned toward the double doors, smiling and nodding at him. “Take the kids and Oliver, you too! Go on...” Ron went over and took Albus’s hand, leading him toward the double doors.

Having been pushed through, the four young men made their way down the corridor to where a Healer was standing by Molly and Ginny. “Aah, here he is,” the Healer said, smiling. “You’ve got yourself a very strong young lady here.”

Ginny turned around and smiled at Harry. “Come on now.” In her arms, she lifted up a small bundle of blankets. “Her eyes are open.”

They named her Lily. She had made an incredible amount of progress on the aging potions, stamina draughts, and healing spells that had been feeding her since she was born. And it was just a little earlier that night that she’d opened her eyes and showed signs of awareness.

In fact, the Healers had told them, she was nearly the size and activity level of a baby that was only two or three weeks pre-term, and that within a few days, Ginny could bring her home. As Harry held his daughter, his emotions seemed to hit him all at once. He’d been putting on a brave face for so long - through the break-up with Ginny, finding Oliver, falling in love, the baby, their crisis, and everything else that had happened. He handed her over to Ginny. “Here. I think the others might want a chance to meet her. I’ll send George and Charlie in here.”

“Harry? Are you okay?” Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. “I just need some air.”

Oliver watched as Harry walked off, then ran after him. “Wait!”

They made their way down onto the lawn. For a while, Harry just wandered around slowly, but as he approached one of the benches, he broke apart. He buried his face in his hands and his whole body trembled as the tears began to flow.

Oliver wrapped one arm around him, then turned him into his body and embraced him. There were never sufficient words at times like this. When so many emotions came flooding in at the same time, and there was nowhere for them to go, all you could do was cry it out and try to move on. “Let’s sit on tha’ bench,” he whispered.

Harry shook his head. His face still buried in his shoulder, He wrapped his arms around Oliver’s torso and held on tightly. The bench would be cold and hard. It would plant him in reality again. Here, he was warm and it felt more like a dream than a nightmare.

Finally, Harry sniffled, nodded and took a step back. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s just too much at once.”

“Yer mourning the loss of what ye were. It happens to the best of us. My ma always told me that when things change quickly, we sometimes don’ have time to mourn. An’ when we have so many changes all together, it’s even more drastic.” Oliver kissed Harry’s cheek, then brought his hands up to wipe away the tear lines on his face. “Yer not the same man ye were six months ago. But changes like this are good.”

“I don’t know what to feel. I’m happy, but afraid and sad, too. I feel like I’m trapped between what I want to do and what I should be doing. I should stay here with Ginny and Lily. But I want to go home with you.”

Oliver kissed Harry softly on his lips. “Then ye do both. You spend yer days here, and ye fly back home at night. It took us no more than thirty minutes to fly here, right?”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. “You’ll never stop being my captain, will you?”

“Why should I? You’ll never stop being my favourite flyer.” Oliver took Harry’s hand in his own and laced their fingers together. “Are ye ready to go back inside?”

Harry nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“We’ll stop for a cup of tea on the way back in.” Oliver led Harry along the path to the main entrance. “In the past three hours you’ve gone from celebrating to cold, dead panic, to the biggest joy and relief you’ve felt in years. I’d say you need a cuppa.”

“And you flew,” Harry added, squeezing Oliver’s hand. “You were gorgeous up there.”

“I still canna’ believe I did that. I suppose we never know what we’re capable of until we’re pushed to our limits.” They went inside and ordered a tea trolley for 15 to be brought up to the MCU ward. The tea lady had to ask a few times how many cups and muffins, just to make sure she’d heard them right. 

With their tea and snack ordered, Harry and Oliver went back up to the ward and into the welcoming arms of their family.

Harry sat near the fireplace with Albus asleep in his lap. They’d arrived back at the house late Christmas night. It had been such a long and exciting day at the hospital playing with all the kids, opening presents, taking turns holding their baby sister, and going for broomstick rides with anyone and everyone who wanted to try out the new Peregrines. Charlie was the first to grab Oliver’s broom and take Hugo out for a ride. Then George borrowed Harry’s broomstick and took Rose for a ride.

After all the broomstick rides, baby hugging, present-opening, and goodbyes were finished, Harry and Oliver took the boys back to their home in Ireland. The boys were so tired, they didn’t even have the energy to look through what Father Christmas had brought them in their stockings before falling asleep on the sofa and in Harry’s lap. 

Over at the table, Oliver was writing a note on a piece of parchment. When he finished, he folded it up carefully and tucked it into his pocket.

“Anything important?” Harry asked softly, so as not to awaken Albus.

“Yes, I think so.” Oliver nodded. He moved over to the sofa and sat at James’s feet. “I think I’m ready to take some of my own advice.”

Harry laughed. “Right, so that narrows it down to four years of being Captain, one year of strategy and team leader during the war, and then three years at Puddlemere. Which part of your advice are you going to take?”

Oliver’s grin widened. “I was telling you that it would take you less than half an hour to go between St Mungo’s and The Burren. Now I’m thinkin’ that I could easily spend three days a week here makin’ broomsticks, and the other two days out at Puddlemere.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“All the time I was flyin’ both to St Mungo’s, and then back home, I never once thought of me accident. I think everythin’ that was holdin’ me back has let me go again.”

“I think it’s more accurate to say that _you’ve_ let _it_ go.” Harry looked back to the fire. “When I think about what you were like when I first woke up here, you’re so different now. Back then, you seemed so alone, like you were okay with this tiny world you’ve set up. But now? Well, even Brady told me that you’ve come up and talked to him more the past few months than you’ve done in the last several years combined.”

“I suppose livin’ with a person can do that to a fellow.” Oliver smiled to himself. “Not to mention findin’ yer love. Or in my case, findin’ him again.”

Harry stood and gingerly placed his son on the chair, then covered him with an afghan. Then he went over to the sofa and put another blanket on top of James, then held his hand out to Oliver. “Come, let’s go to bed.” 

Oliver took Harry’s hand and as he was standing found himself pulled into a tight embrace. “I’m so happy you found me,” Harry whispered into his neck. “I feel like I’ve been wandering for years.”

“Don’ ye think you were the one who found me?” Oliver kissed Harry’s forehead and wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Come on then, let’s off to bed.”

Harry nodded. And leaving the boys sleeping in the glow of the Christmas tree, the two men went to their room.

“Father Christmas brought me a giant snitch!” James shouted sometime around five in the morning. Once James was up, he wouldn’t be down again until sometimes late in the afternoon. “And there’s something for you too, Albus!”

“Severus,” his brother mumbled, trying to wake himself up after being quite soundly asleep in that cozy chair. “What did he bring me?”

“I dunno, but it’s in a strange-shaped package.”

Harry woke up with a thumping headache and a sore arse. And he was all-too aware that once this train wreck of an unusual Boxing Day- morning started, it wouldn’t end until all presents were opened, the rashers and eggs had been fried and devoured, and everyone was sitting comfortably, playing with new toys. He rolled off the edge of the bed and stumbled across to the living room. “What time is it, James?”

“Little hand’s on the five.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. “And the big hand?”

“Two!” Severus chimed in. “And I have something weird in my stocking. Can I open it?” he shouted.

Harry nodded and yawned. “Only the weird one. Wait for Oliver before you empty the rest of your stocking.” James was sitting on his giant snitch, giggling with delight as it would hover for a few moments about an inch off the ground. Harry headed into the kitchen “I’ll go start the rashers.”

“It’s a harp!” Severus shouted.

“Oh, joy,” Harry muttered, trying his best to keep his eyes open.

By the time breakfast was cooked, tea was brewed, and apple cider was warmed with cinnamon, Harry had managed to awaken. He was just putting everything on platters when he heard Oliver in the other room.

“Harry? Ye might want ta get in here.”

Harry levitated the drinks tray into the living room, then stopped when he saw Oliver. In his hand, there was a small red and gold stocking with the letter “H” embroidered on the cuff. “What’s that for?”

“I dunno. The boys said it was in with their stockings. I didn’a know ye hung a stocking the other night, Harry.” Oliver took the drinks tray and handed Harry his present.

“It’s because I didn’t.” He reached inside and pulled out a small box with a letter attached. The letter was written in an all-too familiar handwriting. Harry’s face lost all its colour. He sat down in the chair by the fireplace.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

“I hope so.”

 

_Harry,_

_You’re doing well. We can all see that. I don’t know if I’m actually allowed to send this letter, and honestly, I wouldn’t be able to do it at all if James and Remus hadn’t started pondering things and figured out that we could use Father Christmas to send this to you. Seems that you’re due a few presents from good ol’ F.C., and if we snuck one into his bag, none would be the wiser._  
Of course, your father wanted to write this, but his handwriting is bloody awful, and I don’t think you’d be able to read one word of it, even if he was writing slow and concentrating.  
I won’t bore you with the magic of how this works and what we’ve been doing. Just know that we’ve all been watching you, and you’ve got yourself a brilliant life going there. Lily - your Lily... well, I should say your _daughter_ Lily will be just fine. She’s got a strong spirit.  
Right, so down to what this letter’s about. Yes, the whiskey was mine. Yes, Remus and I put it there on some whim that turned out to be more of a divination. Figured it needed to be there for some reason or another. And he wasn’t going to let me drink it, anyway.  
James is telling me that you somehow convinced your man to start flying again. And something about Puddlemere beating Holyhead in the finals, but that’s completely unofficial and there’s no way either of us would spill future Quidditch results to you.  
Right. Remus is reminding me about the purpose of this letter again. We all just wanted to tell you to stay where you are. The Burren is a pretty special place. It has a stabilizing and healing effect on everyone who lives there. Everyone who is drawn to it is drawn for a reason. Just know that you’ve found your place.  
Oh, and it makes things like this letter a lot easier to manage. Miracles are bloody difficult magic to pull off, and it’s just so much easier when the destination of the magic is welcome to miracles.  
Sorry, Harry, I really must be off. Take this little bauble as a Christmas present from all of us. Keep that family of yours well, and remember that bit about your man and Puddlemere. 

_Love, Sirius._

_P.S. You’re not a selkie._

 

Harry read the letter four times, each time trying harder to choke back tears. When he’d finished, he Summoned a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and picked up the small box. Inside, was an enamel brooch, much like the ones that were commonly worn on the wraps and capes out here on The Burren. It was in the shape of a lily, with the silhouettes of a dog, a wolf, and a stag inside.

“Harry?” Oliver sounded worried.

“I’m alright. Father Christmas just finally brought me something, and it’s pretty amazing.”

Oliver looked down at the brooch. “We ought’ta get ye a cloak for that. It’s quite lovely.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

“And I hope the letter was good news?” Oliver sounded like he didn’t really want to ask, but he was, after all, a Gryffindor, and couldn’t help wanting to do something.

Harry looked up at Oliver and smiled. “It’s the best news. It’s just one more thing to say that I’ve found my home.”

Addendum

 

The cottage was alive with music and flowers, and the sounds of laughter and joy coming out of every window and door. It had been decorated in the early wildflowers of the spring and had brightly coloured ribbons and banners hanging from every corner both inside and outside. O’Brian’s Red Clan were playing in the corner, and all of the magical folk of The Burren were inside dancing. Tiny lemon sprites had flown in from the daisies and daffodils and were nesting and twinkling up in the rafters.

As the band played and the people danced, they formed a circle in anticipation of the wedding party’s arrival. Even Eileen was dancing in the circle, perhaps not as joyous are her sister, but still smiling sweetly as one of the liveliest groups of revellers entered the cottage.

The children were the first to arrive, dancing in the centre of the circle with all of their friends. Then two clans came in dancing together. The Woods, with all of Oliver’s brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, and his mother and father were all inter-mingled with the Weasley’s and their kin, including extended family. George had young Lily on his shoulders, 18 months old, she was already clapping to the music and giggling at all of the activity around her. And then there were all of Harry’s friends. And the entire Puddlemere United Quidditch team.

As the couple entered the dancing circle, they immediately took to the centre and started in with the reel. Dressed in suits of the Wood family tartan, Oliver wore a traditional kilt, while Harry wore matching trousers and vest with a long black coat. Harry had become quite the dancer in the time he’d spent out on the rock. From the dances at the cottage, to private lessons with Oliver in their workshop, he’d learned a lot of moves - some of which had nothing to do with dancing. 

“You’re amazing,” Oliver told him as they came together the first time in the set. Harry smiled as they stepped and hopped back and away from each other. He was sure he had never seen Oliver happier.

“It’s because of you,” Harry told him when they came together again. They spun with their left hands together, flashing their new golden bands to the cheering crowd. 

Oliver laughed. As the music got faster, and their dance went on, he pulled Harry close to him and spun him around the floor. “I dunna’ think Eileen’ll be botherin’ me from now on.”

“She’d better not. Besides, I think she’s eyeing your brother.” Harry nodded over to where Oliver’s older brother Michael was chatting with Bill and Arthur. 

“She can have him. He’s a block of ice, he is. Anyone who can melt his frozen heart has got my blessing.” 

Someone in the crowd (Harry suspected it was Ginny) shouted “kiss!” and soon a chorus was echoing from all corners of the room. 

Oliver pulled Harry in close to him and smiled. He grabbed Harry’s left hand with his own, interlaced their fingers and raised it high in the air, looking around at the crowd as he showed off to everyone. Then, turning back to Harry, he smiled.

Harry smiled back, then laughed and reached up with his right hand, pulling Oliver’s face down to his for a passionate kiss. Everyone in the cottage whooped and hollered, clapping to the music and cheering on the happy couple. 

When they broke the kiss, Oliver leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder and wrapped both arms around his man. “I feel like me heart’ll burst, Harry.”

“Not on my watch,” Harry told him. “I’m sure you’re strong enough to handle all my love and more. Besides, we’ve both had enough bad things happen to us that we’re due a little happiness without your heart exploding on me.”

Oliver laughed. “I meant that…”

“I know what you meant.” Harry pulled back and took Oliver’s hand. “Come on, then. The boys want to dance with us, too. And I promised Rose I’d teach her how to jig.”

The wedding couple each went off to dance with another partner, celebrating their own turn as the “any excuse” for the use of this cottage. And as the sun set, the party went on, bringing music and dancing, laughter and light to that magical expanse of rock that had quickly become the only home in their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

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